 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
His thousand-footed flocks, pass bleating forth;
That lingering, crop Spring-tides new sappy grass.
Follow today the weanlings, with their dams.
That butt, that underpush, the foster dugs:
And wanton, as they wend, with that new life;
Which kindles ín their blood.
That lingering, crop Spring-tides new sappy grass.
Follow today the weanlings, with their dams.
That butt, that underpush, the foster dugs:
And wanton, as they wend, with that new life;
Which kindles ín their blood.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |