Ix

And now, O tranquil marshes, in your vast Serenity of vision and of dream, Wherethrough by every intricate vein have passed With joy impetuous and pain supreme The sharp fierce tides that chafe the shores of earth In endless and controlless ebb and flow, Strangely akin you seem to him whose birth One hundred years ago With fiery succour to the ranks of song Defied the ancient gates of wrath and wrong.