With all your brooks and fountains far withdrawn;
You forests shudder underneath my sighs;
And whatsoever breathes in earth and skies;
You birds that on the bough salute the dawn;
And you wild creatures that through wood and glen
Do fly the hunter, or the hunter flies;
Yea, man himself, most terrible to men;
Troop to my word, about my footstep fawn;
Yea, ev’n you spirits that by viewless springs
Move and perplex the tangled web of things,