DEEP in a far green forest land

Is the shore of an inland sea:

No grey shingle or gleaming sand

Or wave's white ecstasy.

Only a moon-pale ledge of rock,

Lapped by that sullen waste

Of Limbo-drift where a shadowy flock

Of dream birds spaced.

In the unquiet wideness of their lonelihood

Are as that sky-line aimlessly empty of good.