INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite br Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind br Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light; br Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind br A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought br That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye, br There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot, br A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry.