How all the air, gone mad with foam and forms,
Spun froth and, 'twixt her, wrestled hair and arms,
And hoofs and feet that crushed the leaves and shred,
Whirling them wildly, brown, and yellow, and red.
And how she rose and leaned her throbbing head,
With all its uncoifed braids of raven hair
Disheveled, on one arm,—as white and fair
And smooth as milk,—and saw, as through a haze,
The brute thing throttled and the frowning face
Of Urience bent above it, browed with might;