He is training his colt, The man in the Moon. I can see where the hooves have beaten down A clear round ring. Can it be this thing Forbodes rainfall soon? Now I must hurry away for the brown Leaves fall from November's tragic trees, And love that once shouted goes whispering Of fearful mysteries. There shall be rain Soon on the naked fields. Yet shall the Spartans fight again, Here be their shields. And Love shall come shouting in The meadows once more. But to morrow - a mortal sin! The rain will pour. § Penultimate line altered from: 'But to morrow - a mortal sin - '