Xvi

Thyself the lark melodious in mid-heaven; Thyself the Protean shape of chainless cloud, Pregnant with elemental fire, and driven Through deeps of quivering light, and darkness loud With tempest, yet beneficent as prayer; Thyself the wild west wind, relentless strewing The withered leaves of custom on the air, And through the wreck pursuing O’er lovelier Arnos, more imperial Romes, Thy radiant visions to their viewless homes.