Passer Mortuus Est, 91 Pastoral, 92 Assault, 93 Travel, 94 Low-Tide, 95 Song of a Second April, 96 The Poet and his Book, 97 Alms, 102 Inland, 104 To a Poet that Died Young, 105 Wraith, 107 Ebb, 109 Elaine, 110 Burial, 111 Mariposa, 112 Doubt no more that Oberon, 113 Lament, 114 Exiled, 115 The Death of Autumn, 117 Ode to Silence, 118 Memorial to D. C., 127 Unnamed Sonnets, i-xii, 134 Wild Swans, 146 SECTION ONE _Renascence_ All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I’d started from And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood. Over these things I could not see: These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand. And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I’ll lie And look my fill into the sky. And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And--sure enough!--I see the top! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I ’most could touch it with my hand! And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky.