See, they return; ah, see the tentative
Movements, and the slow feet,
The trouble in the pace and the uncertain
Wavering!
See, they return, one by one,
With fear, as half—awakened;
As if the snow should hesitate
And murmur in the wind,
and half turn back;
These were the “Wing’d—with—Awe,”
Inviolable.
Gods of the Wingèd shoe!
With them the silver hounds,
sniffing the trace of air!
Haie! Haie!
These were the swift to harry;
These the keen—scented;
These were the souls of blood.
Slow on the leash,
pallid the leash—men!