Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/197



sundawn fills the land Full as a feaster's hand Fills full with bloom of bland Bright wine his cup; Flows full to flood that fills From the arch of air it thrills Those rust‑red iron hills With morning up.

Dawn, as a panther springs, With fierce and fire‑fledged wings Leaps on the land that rings From her bright feet