Sherard Vines

NOW day, like a great white Bull,

Shambles among the dewy corn,

Massive-limbed, and broad, and full,

Two curves of the sun for horn;

Wingèd Bull Assyrian,

Twain blue wings that heaven span.

Woody plains and rivers slow,

That with reeded whisper go

Down the nave of green willow,

Through the poplar’s portico—

There the Bull of Day shall pass,

Parting osiers, rustling grass.