On a stallion shod with fire;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
The impatient human cry is followed by the refrain natural to those whose lives are surrounded by the eternal calm of the desert,—
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.
When we think of the Greeks we think at the same time of
the sprinkled isles
Lily on lily that o’erlace the sea,