Oba dzieła były zresztą porównywane nie jeden raz.
How can it be? But one short month it seems Since I beheld him on his jennet's back, With hawk on wrist, his bounding hounds beside, Charge up the hill side through the golden gorse, Swallowing the west wind, till his cheeks glowed out Like ripened pears. The whirring pheasant sprang From the hedged bank; and, with a shout, in air The bright boy tossed his falcon; then with spur Pressed to his jennet's flank, and head thrown back, And all the spirit of life within his eye And voice, he drew not rein, till the spent quarry Lay cowering 'neath the hawk's expanded wings.
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Kategoria:Irlandzkie utwory literackie Kategoria:Utwory literackie opublikowane pośmiertnie Kategoria:Utwory literackie z 1847 Kategoria:Utwory literackie napisane wierszem białym