That chronicle, dark tumbling one, is thine!
Well may’st thou groan and hourly lash thyself,
Yet not for all thy lashings shalt thou ’scape,
Nor shall thy myriad waters purge thy guilt.
While she, thy dainty partner, up aloft,
Pearly accomplice of a million crimes,
From cloud to cloud steers on, how smilingly!
VIII
TO A FORGOTTEN TRITON
Triumphant wielder of the wreathèd horns,
Breeder and brewer of small midland storms,