This darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollback highroad roaring down, In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth Turns and twindles over the broth Of a pool so pitchblack, fell frowning, It rounds and rounds Despair and drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew Are the groins of the braes that the brook threads through. Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern, And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
Beginning my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact, consciousness -- these forms -- the power of motion, The least insect or animal -- the senses -- eyesight -- love; The first step, I say, aw'd me and pleas'd me so much, I have hardly gone, and hardly wish'd to go, any further, But stop and loiter all the time, to sing it in ecstatic songs.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 