The timid throng: they congregate;
And, as th’ intruder they espy,
Seem apprehensive of their fate.
Away unto some nook they run,
Or to the angle of the field;
The shepherd marks them one by one,
And one by one they have to yield.
(Perchance it is the month of May):
Their shornèd quarters fat and fleet
Are needed in some other way,—