In Winter on the Cumner ridge A Stranger looked from Godstow bridge His dream to change into the air A gleam that played inside his hair Lifted to the northern sea A thousand timorous tendrils creep From Ilium to Palladium The naked shingles from the rim of Night His beating wings then tore the sky
A vagrant will sent forth a cry The midland master of the gates Unfurled a pounding cloud of sails A voice of gold to hide a star A tide of light to carry far And danger was to tarry here For never would we stand so near with night