No turf, no rock: in their ugly stead,
See, wonderful blue and red!
Is it not so
With the minds of men?
The level and low,
The burnt and bare, in themselves; but then
With such a blue and red grace, not theirs,—
Love settling unawares!
VI
READING A BOOK, UNDER THE CLIFF
"Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no?