Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates,

⁠Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes,
Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates,
⁠And hushed seraglios.

So shape chased shape as swift as, when to land

⁠Bluster the winds and tides the selfsame way,
Crisp foamflakes scud along the level sand,
⁠Torn from the fringe of spray.

I started once, or seemed to start in pain,

⁠Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak,
As when a great thought strikes along the brain,
⁠And flushes all the cheek.

And once my arm was lifted to hew down

⁠A cavalier from off his saddlebow,
That bore a lady from a leaguered town;
⁠And then, I know not how,