And cannot fall. He turn'd his face
Again and contemplated space.
And then he raised his hand to vex
His beard, stood still, and there fell down
Great drops from some unfrequent spring,
And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown,
And ran uncheck'd, as one who recks
Nor joy, nor tears, nor any thing.
And then, his broad breast heaving deep,
Like some dark sea in troubled sleep,