Upon green hills wild droves of horses blow The golden bloom off of the days that go. From the high hillocks to the blue-ing bay Falls the sheer pitch of heavy manes that sway. They toss their heads above the still lagoon Caught with a silver bridle by the moon. Snorting in fear of their own shadow, they, To screen it with their manes, await the day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE, DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE KILLED IN ACTION by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN THE DAY-DREAM: MORAL by ALFRED TENNYSON PROMETHEUS UNBOUND: THE RED SEA by AESCHYLUS |