The Bull

In the olive darkness of the sally-trees

silently moved the air from night to day.

The summer-grass was thick with honey daisies

where he, a curled god, a red Jupiter,

heavy with power among his women lay.

But summer's bubble-sound of sweet creek-water

dwindles and is silent, the seeding grasses

grow harsh, and wind and frost in the black sallies

roughen the sleek-haired slopes. Seek him out, then,

the angry god betrayed, whose godhead passes,

and down the hillsides drive him from his mob.

What enemy steals his strength - what rival steals

his mastered cows? His thunders powerless,

the red storm of his body shrunk with fear,

runs the great bull, the dogs upon his heels.