Of any strange fowl on earth
To shatter its dream?
THE LAST COACHLOAD
(To Colin)
CRASHED through the woods that lumbering Coach. The dust
Of flinted roads bepowdering felloe and hood.
Its gay paint cracked, its axles red with rust,
It lunged, lurched, toppled through a solitude
Of whispering boughs, and feathery, nid-nod grass.
Plodded the fetlocked horses. Glum and mum,