Ah, did you once
see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and
speak to you?
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it
seems, and new!
But you were living before
that,
And you are living
after,
And the memory I started at--
My starting moves
your laughter!
I crossed a moor, with a name
of its own
And a certain use in the world
no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
'Mid the blank miles round
about:
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my
breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather--
Well, I forget the rest.
