How he tears the ground with his angry hoofs!
Now he breaks a wild path through the deep, plumy rushes,
(A loud bird high on a tamarack hushes)
Right on through a glory of crimson he crushes,
On into the gloom under leafy roofs.
Oh, the joy of the wind in our faces! We follow
The cattle—we shout down the poppy-hung hollow.
Lo! out of the cliff we have startled a swallow,
And startled the echoes on rocky fells.
Ho! what was it passed? Were they leaves—were they sparrows