_On Re-Reading Certain German Poets_

They hold their own, they have no peers In gloom and glow, in hopes and fears, In love and terror, hovering round The lore of that enchanted ground!-- That mystic region, where one hears, By bandit towers, the hunt that nears Wild through the Hartz; the demon cheers Of Hackelnberg; his horn and hound-- They hold their own.

Dark Wallenstein; and, down the years, The Lorelei; and, creased with sneers, Faust, Margaret;--the Sabboth sound, Witch-whirling, of the Brocken, drowned In storm, through which Mephisto leers,-- They hold their own.