  ONCE in a saffron twilight, rich with the sound of bells, In a dim meadow straying, high on the lonely fells, I saw Pegasus, winged Pegasus, cropping the asphodels. His neck was clothed with thunder, his feet with strength were shod; Terrible in his beauty, he grazed on the starry sod, A white, untameable beauty, a stallion fit for a god. Meekly he ranged unfettered; his wings were wet with dew, And where they trailed in the blossomy grass, a misty rainbow grew, Those strong, exultant pinions that trample the windy blue. Then suddenly he raised his head. I felt the pulsing beat Of his valiant hoofs. He sprang on the track of the stars, unleashed and fleet. I was alone; but deep in the grass was the print of his deathless feet. |
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