II.

World-held---the thing as hung upon a string
In space, a hanging ball of wet and earth
Where pagan clans would dance around the birth
Swell'd upward, fire and wood surrounding, sing
And breathe up burning embers through the ring
Of sky and star collected; drunken mirth
Reflected in the beaker full of worth
Called wine---When, falcon-flown on distant wing,
The Watcher in his eye beholds the heaven
Then beneath him, and the world weightless,
Brightly hanging, placeless, one and seven
Lamplights in the void, the vaulting faceless
Wane of Gaia, wild in its course of ken---
Oh, but to stand on ancient Earth again!