«Where dawn is sprinkling her red waters on / The cabbages and beets, / A little nuzzling maple reaches up / To suck its dam's green teats.»
«How still it is among the junipers! / Autumn — a bay mare — cleans her mane of burrs. Her hoofs' blue clatter sounds above the bank / Of the still river where the reeds are rank. The monkish wind steps gingerly, his tread / Kneads the heaped leaves with which the road is spread, And at...»
«In the clear cold the dales grow blue and tremble; / The iron hoofs beat sharply, knock on knock. / The faded grasses in wide skirts assemble / Flung copper where the wind-blown willows rock, From empty glens, a slender arch ascending, / Fog curls upon the air and mosswise grows, / While ...»
«Hopes, painted by the autumn cold, are shining; / My steady horse plods on as calm as Fate; / His dun Hp twitches moistly at the lining / Of my blown coat; he does not change his gait. On a far road the unseen traces, leading / Neither to rest nor battle, lure and fade; / The golden heels...»