The small blue Arab stallion dances on the hilllike 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.
The small blue stallion poses like a centaur-god,netting the sun in his sea-spray mane, forgettinghis stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod;changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill.
