AT fierce Sidero's word the thralls drew near, And shore the locks of Tyro,—like ripe corn They fell in golden harvest,—but forlorn The maiden shuddered in her pain and fear, Like some wild mare that cruel grooms in scorn Hunt in the meadows, and her mane they sheer, And drive her where, within the waters clear, She spies her shadow, and her shame doth mourn. Ah! hard were he and pitiless of heart Who marking that wild thing made weak and tame, Broken, and grieving for her glory gone, Could mock her grief; but scornfully apart Sidero stood, and watched a wind that came And tossed the curls like fire that flew and shone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS SONNET: ON A FAMILY PICTURE by THOMAS EDWARDS WEEDS by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR OLD WAR-DREAMS by WALT WHITMAN THE MORAL FABLES: THE COCK AND THE FOX by AESOP TO MARY SINTON LEITCH, POET AND FRIEND by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |