Gleaming yellow as firelight in winter—
And teeth with rage gnashing, and yellow
As shucks of the corn-plant grown aged—
Tumbled down from the north with his hail-balls,
And, mingling with mud the deep water,
In a voice like the sound of a torrent,
Bellowed loud to the Twain and the singers:
"Why call ye, small worms of the waters
And spawn of the earth and four quarters,
Ye disturbers of thought, lacking shame;