Ii

See, how the dented moss, that pads the hump Of these distorted roots, elastic springs From that god's late reclining! Lump by lump Its points, impressed, rise in resilient rings, As stars crowd, qualming through gray evening skies.-- Invisible presence, still I feel thy eyes Regarding me, bringing dim dreams before My half-closed gaze, here where great, green-veined leaves Reach, waving at me, their innumerable hands, Stretched towards this water where the sycamore Stands burly guard; where every ripple weaves A ceaseless, wavy quivering as of bands.