What brought thee here?—This wind that steals the old
Weird legends from the forests, with a scoff
To laugh them thro' their beards? Or, in those weeds,
The hermit brook so busy with his beads?—
How many Aves, Paters doth he say
In one droned minute on his rosary
Of bubbles—wot'st thou?—Pucker-eyed didst mark
Yon lank hag-tapers, yellow by yon way,
A haggard company of seven?—See
How dry swim by such curled brown bits of bark?