–

–
Oh wild, wild horses.
The beauty of the untamed.
Yet hypomania undoes me again.
For halfshod, I
Ran my race too soon.
And he, whom I would have “see”,
Saw but the forest, and ne’er a tree.
Yet the fault was mine complete,
To think a King with time for winnowing
A peasants chaff in search of wheat.

–