Wild honey from various thyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

O soft, fleet-faring wind, there is a shore,
Some pure, strong beach where thou dost find thy bed,
Far from this forest murmur round thy head,
From these bright-tinted plumes of hellebore:
The anemone flowers drop on thy head no more,
Nor autumn follows thee with clinging shred.
Thou art alone and the wide air is spread
Across thee as a coverlet: before
Thy couch and on beyond thee is the white
Of infinite farness, softer than a cloud...
And is it there that wingèd spirits shroud,
Hidden from thee, thou hunter of the light?
Ah, track them in their lair as in a gem;
Give me the clue; I needs must be with them!