Then left them to sink in the silence that follows.
In the forest I stirred, like the chant of thy tides,
The song of the boughs and the branches a-swinging;
The ashes and beeches and oak-trees were singing,
Like the noise of thy waters when dark tempest rides.
I swung on the crest of the pine-trees a-swaying,
As now on thy green, flowing surges, O sea;
I piped in my triumph, they danced to my playing;
I left them a-murmur, to hasten to thee.
The white clouds were driven like ships through the air,