All greenly mossed, a mouldered thing;
That stifled shaft no more shall sing!
He shakes his head in doubt.
“Laugh and sigh, live and die,—
The hand is blind: I know not, I,
In what lost pass mine arrows lie!
One to east, one to west,
Another for the eagle’s breast,—
The archer and the wind know best!”
The stars are in the sky;