Methought I sat on Morning’s golden beam
And sang of God’s wild gladness: High and higher
I showered His temple woods with ecstasy;
When suddenly
The earth screamed thunder, and a singeing fire
Shattered my wing. I fell.—
Groping in flight, my feet stuck fast
In smear of lime; swift from below
A tangling net was cast
Where, panting upward, a black hell