The ox
I love you, pious ox; and mild a feeling
Of vigor and peace to the heart infuse me,
Or that solemn as a monument
You look at the free and fruitful fields,
0 that at the yoke bowing happily
The agil opra de l’uom grave seconds:
He urges you and pricks you, and you with the slow
Giro de ’patient eyes answer.
From the broad wet and black nostril
Smoke your spirit, and like a happy hymn
The bellowing in the serene air is lost;
And of the serious glaucous eye within the austere
Sweetness is reflected broad and quiet
The divine of the green silence plan.