My birds, my pretty pious buccaneers
That haunt the shores of daybreak and of dusk,
Truly my birds did find to-day
A-strand out yonder on the Balsam hills
A bright bulk, where the night wave left it,
High upon the Balsam peaks.
Then my birds, my sweet, my heavenly [day prickers],
Did open up the day
Like as some castaway bale of flotsam sunlight-stuff
And jetsam of woven Easternry: one loud exclaimed