Thou, all night long the troubled earth hast torn,
And tossed the stormy trees until the morn,
Which struggles now unto its noon, half blind
With those wild locks which ye have cast across
The face of heaven, scarcely showing through
Her eyes between are still of stedfast blue,
And still look calm above the woods ye toss;
As they were wrathful waves of that green main
From whence ye come, beyond the sunset’s grave,
To freshen on the sunburnt hills, and lave