I thought you a fire br On Heron-Plantation Hill, br Dealing out mischief the most dire br To the chattels of men of hire br There in their vill. br br But by and by br You turned a yellow-green, br Like a large glow-worm in the sky; br And then I could descry br Your mood and mien. br br How well I know br Your furtive feminine shape! br As if reluctantly you show br You nude of cloud, and but by favour throw br Aside its drape . . .