"Dropp'd, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass."—Hood, Mids. Fairies, viii.
"There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass."—Tennyson, Lotos-eaters.
"Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came."—Milton, Comus.
"While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat."—Pope, Pastoral, iii.
"It is the curse of kings, to be attended