(Swung over the Atlantic,
They peered from windows, frantic),
When, eagle-back, I’d scanned the pole in broad, eternal noon,
“In Queen Mab’s chariot I ventured on the sea.
’Twas like a mammoth hazelnut, with matchless orrery
A-sparkle on its ceiling,
With planet systems wheeling
And giddy comets sizzling all about the head o’ me.
“The nine bulls drew it, as stout as those of Crete,
And all were shod with horrid skulls that clattered on their feet.