And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent
 | And down his querulous challenge sent. |
 | |
Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm