He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Live thy life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Then; and then
All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough,