Threading the evil hand and look 
I sprang, on sinews spare and light, 
To sleep beside a water-brook 
Where snow was sprinkled overnight. 

I spread my cloak upon the ground, 
I laid my head upon a stone, 
I stared into the sky and found 
That I no longer lived alone. 

He turned His burning eyes on me 
From smoke above a mountain-shelf; 
I did not want His company 
Who wanted no one but myself. 

I whistled shrill, I whistled keen; 
The birds were servant to my nod. 
They wove their wings into a screen 
Between my lovely ground and God.