PAUDEEN
 
 INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
 Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
 Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light;
 Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
 A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
 That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye,
 There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,
 A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry.