Though winter come with cleaving rain with bonds of rime,
It shall not sever us, the dreamers calm and wise,
Prom succor and solace of our pagan paradise:
For in your cypress-bole, still standing from the prime,
Dear hamadryad you and I shall drowse content,
Bosom to bosom, till the evil term be spent.
And, though the wrackful storm on seas and headlands climb,
Another dreamer bas found a long-abiding home,
Safe in the nereid's cavern, far beneath the foam.