And moving out they found the stately horse, / Who now no more a vassal to the thief, / But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, / Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and stoop'd / With a low whinny toward the pair: […]

The tree talked like a bird whose feathered weight Nested in him; and he with twisted tongue Could swear like the woodhewer whose dark face Was bright with sweat as he raised up and swung His naked arms with awkwardness and grace.

This love has dried up and stayed behind

Altitonant, Imperial-crown'd, and thunder-armed Jove, Unfold thy fiery veil, the flaming robe And superficies of thy better brightness;