Читать книгу Belford's Magazine, Vol II, No. 10, March 1889 - Various - Страница 3

All silver-shod within a weed's

Dark heart, a thousand tiny steeds

Were tethered in one stall. Each wee heart

Panted for flight, and longed to start

Upon the race-course just beyond their walls;

And, while they waited, down the silent stalls

The wind swept softly, and, with fingers light,

Bridled the thistle horses for their flight.