  The proud and sturdy horses Gather their willing forces, Unswerving make their courses Over the brown Earth that was mowing meadow A month agone, where shadow And light in the tall grasses Quivered and was gone. They spoil the nest of plover And lark, turn up, uncover The bones of many a lover Unfamed in tales; Arrows, old flints of hammers, The rooks with hungry clamours Hover around and settle Seeking full meals. Who knows what splendid story Lies here, what hidden glory Of brave defeat or victory This earth might show. None cares; the surging horses Gather untiring forces The keen-eyed farmer after Guiding the plough. |
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