Bull pulling a wagon
Bull pulling a wagon
The sturdy bull, with stately tread,Submissive, silent, bows his headAnd feels the yoke. The creaking wainRolls leisurely across the plain:Across the trackless, treeless land,An undulating sea of sand,Where mocking, sapless rivers run;With swollen tongue and bloodshot eye,Still on to where the shadows lie,And onward toward the setting sun.With weeping eyes he looks awayTo where his free-born brothers playUpon the plain, so wild and wide;He turns his head from side to side,He feels the bull-whip’s cruel stroke;Again he leans against the yoke.At last his weary walk is done.He pauses at the river’s brinkAnd drinks the while his drivers drink.Almost beside the setting sun.
The sturdy bull, with stately tread,Submissive, silent, bows his headAnd feels the yoke. The creaking wainRolls leisurely across the plain:Across the trackless, treeless land,An undulating sea of sand,Where mocking, sapless rivers run;With swollen tongue and bloodshot eye,Still on to where the shadows lie,And onward toward the setting sun.With weeping eyes he looks awayTo where his free-born brothers playUpon the plain, so wild and wide;He turns his head from side to side,He feels the bull-whip’s cruel stroke;Again he leans against the yoke.At last his weary walk is done.He pauses at the river’s brinkAnd drinks the while his drivers drink.Almost beside the setting sun.
The sturdy bull, with stately tread,Submissive, silent, bows his headAnd feels the yoke. The creaking wainRolls leisurely across the plain:Across the trackless, treeless land,An undulating sea of sand,Where mocking, sapless rivers run;With swollen tongue and bloodshot eye,Still on to where the shadows lie,And onward toward the setting sun.
The sturdy bull, with stately tread,
Submissive, silent, bows his head
And feels the yoke. The creaking wain
Rolls leisurely across the plain:
Across the trackless, treeless land,
An undulating sea of sand,
Where mocking, sapless rivers run;
With swollen tongue and bloodshot eye,
Still on to where the shadows lie,
And onward toward the setting sun.
With weeping eyes he looks awayTo where his free-born brothers playUpon the plain, so wild and wide;He turns his head from side to side,He feels the bull-whip’s cruel stroke;Again he leans against the yoke.At last his weary walk is done.He pauses at the river’s brinkAnd drinks the while his drivers drink.Almost beside the setting sun.
With weeping eyes he looks away
To where his free-born brothers play
Upon the plain, so wild and wide;
He turns his head from side to side,
He feels the bull-whip’s cruel stroke;
Again he leans against the yoke.
At last his weary walk is done.
He pauses at the river’s brink
And drinks the while his drivers drink.
Almost beside the setting sun.