fair princess
     Stray:  he holds the leagues in stress,
     Watches keenly there. 
     Oft has he been riven; slain
     Is no force in Westermain. 
     Wait, and we shall forge him curbs,
     Put his fangs to uses, tame,
     Teach him, quick as cunning herbs,
     How to cure him sick and lame. 
     Much restricted, much enringed,
     Much he frets, the hooked and winged,
     Never known to spare. 
     ’Tis enough:  the name of Sage
     Hits no thing in nature, nought;
     Man the least, save when grave Age
     From yon Dragon guards his thought. 
     Eye him when you hearken dumb
     To what words from Wisdom come. 
     When she says how few are by
     Listening to her, eye his eye. 
     Self, his name declare. 
     Him shall Change, transforming late,
     Wonderously renovate. 
     Hug himself the creature may: 
     What he hugs is loathed decay. 
     Crying, slip thy scales, and slough! 
     Change will strip his armour off;
     Make of him who was all maw,
     Inly only thrilling-shrewd,
     Such a servant as none saw
     Through his days of dragonhood. 
     Days when growling o’er his bone,
     Sharpened he for mine and thine;
     Sensitive within alone;
     Scaly as the bark of pine. 
     Change, the strongest son of Life,
     Has the Spirit here to wife. 
     Lo, their young of vivid breed,
     Bear the lights that onward speed,
     Threading thickets, mounting glades,
     Up the verdurous colonnades,
     Round the fluttered curves, and down,
     Out of sight of Earth’s blue crown,
     Whither, in her central space,
     Spouts the Fount and Lure o’ the chase. 
     Fount unresting, Lure divine! 
     There meet all:  too late look most. 
     Fire in water hued as wine,
     Springs amid a shadowy host,
     Circled:  one close-headed mob,
     Breathless, scanning divers heaps,
     Where a Heart begins to throb,
     Where it ceases, slow, with leaps. 
     And ’tis very strange, ’tis said,
     How you spy in each of them
     Semblance of that Dragon red,
     As the oak in bracken-stem. 
     And, ’tis said, how each and each: 
     Which commences, which subsides: 
     First my Dragon! doth beseech
     Her who food for all provides. 
     And she answers with no sign;
     Utters neither yea nor nay;
     Fires the water hued as wine;
     Kneads another spark in clay. 
     Terror is about her hid;
     Silence of the thunders locked;
     Lightnings lining the shut lid;
     Fixity on quaking rocked. 
     Lo, you look at Flow and Drought
     Interflashed and interwrought: 
     Ended is begun, begun
     Ended, quick as torrents run. 
     Young Impulsion spouts to sink;
     Luridness and lustre