Such cool peace as fills
Green solitudes with trembling light at eve,
Fresh after summer thunder: and thin leaves
Stir gleaming, and grow still; then the green light
Alone moves, pulsing in pooled air, that shakes
No more with sound. Quiet brims full; then break
As dropping rain hurrying elfin feet,
A silvery foam of sound blown as white spray,
Sparkling with great bright bubbles: no sound to sense,
Bright foam upon blue pools of quiet tossed:
And a sight of waven manes that gleam
Shaken in the twilight under luminous leaves;
And challenging fairy horns that invite to the chace
Gay, light o’ heart. And the galloping host,
Winding their horns, rush by as wind in the grass,
Shimmering; and the horns from afar ring out,
Farther and farther away.