That with the spear at times, or bended bow,
Dost cross my footsteps in thy fiery chase
Of the swift elk or blue hill’s flying roe;
Thou that beside the red night-fire thou heapest,
Beneath the cedars and the starlight sleepest,
Thou know’st not, wanderer—never may’st thou know!—
Of the dark holds wherewith man cumbers earth,
To shut from human eyes the dancing seasons’ mirth.
III.
There, fetter’d down from day, to think the while