XXXI


       Midst others of less note, came one frail Form,
       A phantom among men; companionless
       As the last cloud of an expiring storm
       Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
       Had gaz’d on Nature’s naked loveliness,
       Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray
       With feeble steps o’er the world’s wilderness,
       And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,
Pursu’d, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.

Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s