The small blue Arab stallion dances on the hill
like a glancing breaker, like a storm rearing in the sky,
In his prick-ears,the wind, that wanderer and spy,
sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion-coloured still.
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Using a US voice spoils the scansion of these verses due to vowel length
his stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod; changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill. very fine poem.