The winds of night blew vigorous from the deep
With rain-scents of storm-watered wood and wold,
And breathed of ocean breakers moonlight-rolled.
He drowsed; and time passed stealing as for one
Whose life is but a dream in Avalon.
Vast bulks of black, wind-shattered rack went by
The casement's square of heaven,—a crystal dye,
A crown of moonlight, round each cloudy head,—
That seemed the ghosts of giant kings long-dead.
And then he thought she lightly laughed and sighed,