She flies, but only for a space;
Then turns with sad reproachful face;
Then rallying forth her wonted strength,
She backward threw her matchless head,
Flung on the wind her tap’ring length,
And onward swift and swifter sped,—
O’er sward, and plain, and snowy strand,
By mossy rocks, through forests grand,
Which there for centuries had stood
Rustling in their wild solitude.