Yet Oswald saw them not, nor heard their cries;
Nor saw he, as he paced the eastern crags,
How, round the Farnes, the dreaming ocean lay
In broad, unshadowed, sapphire ecstasy,
That glowed to noon through slow, uncounted hours.
His early gloom had vanished; time and space
And earth and sea no longer compassed him;
One thought alone consumed him--beauty slept
Within the shelter of his hermitage,
Upon grey, rustling bents, with golden hair.