VIII

Thenceforth no flying fires inflamed the gray,

No hurtlings shook the dewdrop from the thorn,

No moan perplexed the mute bird on the spray;

Worn horses mused: “We are not whipped to-day”;

No weft-winged engines blurred the moon’s thin horn.

Late Lyrics and Earlier, With Many Other Verses · 第 40 / 134 题