Than of old it used to do,
From that scanty heaven encloses
Yet another strip of blue,
Beetles, looms, immures, imposes—
Steals of light a larger due.
[Sits down and gazes into the distance.]
And the fjord too. Crouch’d it then
In so drear and deep a den?
’Tis a squall. A square-rigg’d skiff
Scuds before it to the land.