Above the conscious earth, and one by one

Her heights and depths absorbed to the last spark

His fluid glory, from the far fine ridge

Of mountain-granite which, transformed to gold,

Laughed first the thanks back, to the vale's dusk fold

On fold of vapor-swathing, like a bridge

Shattered beneath some giant's stamp. Night wist

Her work done and betook herself in mist

To marsh and hollow, there to bide her time

Blindly in acquiescence. Everywhere