Thrill at his touch. The moon, so lost in thought,
Has pined for love; and wanderers out of hell,
And saints from heaven, have known what I have taught.
V.
Great are my griefs; my joys are multiplex;
And beasts and birds and men my subjects are;
Yea, all created things that have a sex,
And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere;
All these, and more, proclaim me from afar,
And sing my marriage songs from year to year.