"I'll away now," spoke the fire-breathed man,

Big as a barrel in tweed and waxed jacket,  

Hair, brow, and beard a single riot  

The glass lost in his grip set down  

And coaxed back to its fellows.  

He turned and nodded thrice to those who knew,  

Chairs scraped to give him room and,  

One shoulder at a time, he left.  

My friends still talked. I cupped my hand to the pane  

To watch his sturdy gait, and by the gate  

Of one ancient frowning terrace alike the rest  

I saw him raise a hand and give the post a pat

And a trailed caress, as to a child off to play,

A teary lover, or the bow of a ship

Safe in a hard-won harbour.

In the broad space left at the bar,

I pointed, studied, breathed, drank

For what is spirit if not earth, air, fire, and water?

At the table, my friends laughed. Adrift in time,

I fancied the same stone laid fresh,

Touched by the same hand,

The same rolling steps turning the world ever

Into the wolf-mourned night.