pelt

In crisps of curl off wild winch whirl, and pour

And pelt music, till none 's to spill nor spend.

In hard-burnt cinders ready weapons meet,

To pelt the martins ’neath the eves at rest

That oft are wak’d to mourn a ruin’d nest;

Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping.

The while they pelt each other on tlie crown

With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brown —

With twitching fingers at her belt

For the purse of sleek pine-marten pelt, 420

Ready to put what he gave in her pouch safe--