  HE rode upon the sorrel horse and led the dapple grey, They passed below the gables mute soon after dawn of day, Before the bell had chimed for Mass, while yet the sunless air Lifted the straws of yesterday about the sleeping square. I recked not of his name and fate nor yet did I surmise Whose were the steeds whose locks were blown betwixt their spacious eyes, The finches fluttered from their hoofs, I stayed to mark the ease Of him who led the grey and swayed the sorrel with his knees. They passed. Uprose the rural sun and spake his prologue clear Across the world for suburbs sleek and linkÈd slums to hear— "Come hither, hither, where are played the interludes of light And day enacts her dearest parts for your abusÈd sight!" |
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