Where the huge log had rolled,
And there in tempered sunlight burned
A quivering curl of gold.
"The small thing looked alive!... it stirred
By breeze and sunbeam kissed,
And fluttered like an Orient bird,
Half-glimpsed through sunrise mist.
"Oh! keen and sheer the axe-edge smote
The perfect curl apart!
Even now, through tingling head and throat,