I recked not of his name and fate nor yet did I surmise
Whose were the steeds whose locks were blown betwixt their spacious eyes,
The finches fluttered from their hoofs, I stayed to mark the ease
Of him who led the grey and swayed the sorrel with his knees.
They passed. Uprose the rural sun and spake his prologue clear
Across the world for suburbs sleek and linkèd slums to hear—
"Come hither, hither, where are played the interludes of light
And day enacts her dearest parts for your abusèd sight!"