Page:Underwoods, Stevenson, 1887.djvu/46

22 This is unborn beauty: she

Now in air floats high and free,

Takes the sun and breaks the blue;—

Late with stooping pinion flew

Raking hedgerow trees, and wet

Her wing in silver streams, and set

Shining foot on temple roof:

Now again she flies aloof,

Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't

By the evening's amethyst.

In wet wood and miry lane,

Still we pant and pound in vain;

Still with leaden foot we chase

Waning pinion, fainting face;

Still with gray hair we stumble on,

Till, behold, the vision gone!