intolerant of sham and shoddy, and nothing would satisfy

And the nearing star turned to a moon --

Gray moon, with a brow of red --

I plunged to that stifling floor.

It was wide as a giant's wheat-field

O laughing, proud, but trembling star!

He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

I ran to the storm and clang --

To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed --