An old plough at rest, Its work done. The broad fields coming gay-dressed To the Priests of the Sun. A tired horse out on grass, Goats on a hill, A tinker driving an ass By the corn mill, A beggar-woman dim As remembered love Poised on the flaming rim Of the world. A drove Of steaming bullocks rush past In cloudy terror. A star-child stands aghast Before a mirror. § This poem is marked with a cross.