The day through high mid-heaven rode
Across the sky, the dim red day;
Awest the warlike day-god strode
With shoulder'd shield away, away.
The savage, warlike day bent low,
As reapers bend in gathering grain,
As archer bending bends yew bow,
And flush'd and fretted as in pain.
Then down his shoulder slid his shield,
So huge, so awful, so blood-red