Chapter 43 No.43

Whither speed they? Where are toss'd

Like sea foam the dwarfed pines

At the jagged sharp inclines;

To the country of the frost

Up the mountains to be lost,

Lost. No better now may be,

Lost where mighty hollows thrust

'Twixt the fierce teeth of the world,

Fill themselves with crimson dust

When the tumbling sun down hurl'd