From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise
Thy breath's soft fumes; and on the still air swells,
Like happy hymn, thy lowing's mellow strain.
In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes
Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells
All the divine green silence of the plain.
X TO PHŒBUS APOLLO
The sovereign driver
Of the ethereal chariot
Whips the fiery wing-footed steeds—