All white with daisies as green tide with surf,
(No star-bedizened belt of white Orion's
Holds lovelier constellations than this turf)
Past little closes set with dandelions
(And set so full that yellow ousts the green
And brags of victory shouting to the sun)
I urged me till beneath the sky's hot sheen
These heights of stony solitude were won.
Here on the crack'd white clods I stand elated
Whose iron verge scarce crumbles at my heels