Such fatherhood, and made
Of murmurous immortality a cargo and a trade.”
For the hewn oak a century fair,
A wound in earth, an ache in air.
And I said: “No pillared height
With a summer daïs over,
Where a dryad fled her lover
Through the long arcade of light;
Nor ’neath Arcturus rolleth more,
Since the loud leaves are gone,