I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

Stilled legendary depth: It was as deep as England. It held Pike too immense to stir, so immense and old That past nightfall I dared not cast.

It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: Now I hold Creation in my foot. Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly - I kill where I please…

The jaws' hooked clamp and fangs Not to be changed at this date; A life subdued to its instrument.

Ooh, their breath is warm And they smell like sleep, And they say they take me home. Like poppies heavy with seed They take me deeper and deeper.

Across the silent stream Where the dream-shadows go, From the dim blue Hill of Dream I have heard the west wind blow.

I walked beside the evening sea And dreamed a dream that could not be; The waves that plunged along the shore Said only: 'Dreamer, dream no more!'