IV.

O blue sky! it mindeth me Of places where I used to see Its vast unbroken circle thrown From the far pale-peaked hill Out to the last verge of ocean, As by God's arm it were done Then for the first time, with the emotion Of that first impulse on it still. Oh, we spirits fly at will Faster than the winged steed Whereof in old book we read, With the sunlight foaming back From his flanks to a misty wrack, And his nostril reddening proud As he breasteth the steep thundercloud,-- Smoother than Sabrina's chair Gliding up from wave to air, While she smileth debonair Yet holy, coldly and yet brightly, Like her own mooned waters nightly, Through her dripping hair.