Flounced back from bliss she was not born
to breathe,

And in her old bounds buried her despair,
Hating and loving warmth alike: so He.

'Thinketh, He made thereat the sun, this
isle,

Trees and the fowls here, beast and creeping thing.

45

Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech;
Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam,
That floats and feeds; a certain badger
brown

In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle
clay,
And he lay stupid-like, — why, I should
laugh;

And if he, spying me, should fall to weep, Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong, Bid his poor leg smart less or grow again, Well, as the chance were, this might take or else Not take my fancy: I might hear his cry, By moonlight; and the pie with the long And give the manikin three legs for his one, tongue

He hath watched hunt with that slant whitewedge eye

90

50

Or pluck the other off, leave him like an egg,