In Winter on the Cumner ridge
A Stranger looked from Godstow bridge
His dream to change into the air
A gleam that played inside his hair

Lifted to the northern sea
A thousand timorous tendrils creep
From Ilium to Palladium
The naked shingles from the rim of Night

His beating wings then tore the sky
A vagrant will sent forth a cry
The midland master of the gates
Unfurled a pounding cloud of sails

A voice of gold to hide a star
A tide of light to carry far
And danger was to tarry here
For never would we stand so near with night.