Beheld a land of dishevelled wood and stream,
A desperate rally of men, a flash, a scream—
And a friend riven beyond all agony.
Yet did you play. Each delicate, rival thread
Of sound was knotted at last and the music ended.
Forest, colour, and mountain, earth held none
But stunted woods with no companion tread,
Greyness, and little hills, in a life unfriended;
For all joy in things and love of them were gone.
II.