His forehead like a king.
The ewes are in the fold:
His consciousness is old
As his, who in Chaldea long ago
Penned his flock, and brooded so.
The Shepherd can justly be compared to Sir Richard Lovelace’s To Lucretia on Going to War. They have in common the same metallic sweetness. A companion piece in both strength of beauty and lyrical qualities is The Mother:
The hearthstone broods in shadow,
And the dark hills are old,
But the child clings to the mother,
And the corn springs in the mould.