THE SORROW OF UNICUME
I
FRESH in the flush light gleam
the slape new furrows:
ride the clean horizon rib
lithe Unicume and his roan team.
Man moulded with Earth—
like clay uprisen:
his whistling mingles
with the throstle's this even.
Inward from furtive woods
the stretched light stains:
end-toil star now broods
deeming resthaven due.
Unyoked the roan team
garthward he leads:
hooves beat to harness clink;
the swollen sun bleeds.
II
When alone, Unicume
seeks his darkening dale.
Yon my white garden-rail—
Heart's tomb within!
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