Though over me, at times, would come
Great longing for the hill-tops,
And the noise of torrent-waters:
Or when, more skilled, I moulded
The damp clay into bricks;
And spread the colour and the glaze;
And in strength-giving heat of glowing kilns,
I baked them durable,
Clean-shaped, and meet for service:
My vision flamed yet brighter;