Draw me, I pray thee, by this slender thread;
Fancy, thou sorceress, bending vision-wrought
O’er that dim well perpetually fed
By the clear springs of thought!
Northward I turn, and tread those dreary strands,—
Lakes where the wild fowl breed, the swan abides;
Shores where the white fox, burrowing in the sands,
Harks to the droning tides.
And seas, where, drifting on a raft of ice,
The she bear rears her young; and cliffs so high,