Rivers and winds among the twisted hills, Hears, and his hearing slowly fills, And hearkens, and his face is lit, Life facing, Death pursuing it.
As with heaped bees at hiving time The boughs are clotted, as (ere prime) Heaven swarms with stars, or the city street Pullulates with passing feet; So swarmed my senses once, that now Repose behind my tranquil brow, Unsealed, asleep, quiescent, clear; Now only the vast shapes I hear— Hear—and my hearing slowly fills— Rivers and winds among the twisting hills, And hearken—and my face is lit— Life facing, Death pursuing it.