He flieth to the west, full of winters,
Swift on his wing; in swarms then press,
The birds about their lord; all long to serve him
165 And to live in loyalty to their leader brave,
Until he seeketh out the Syrian land
With mighty train. Then turneth the pure one
Sharply away, and in the shade of the forest
He dwells, in the grove, in the desert place,
170 Concealed and hid from the host of men.
There high on a bough he abides alone,