Can you not see that clouds whisper the soft-dying day and enfold grassy-plains in golden hue;yet not a single bleat shall stir from half-grown calves with downy coat. Nor night hawks in the darkening hour shall gather over endless herds.

Then fears that they may cease to be before my eyes in eternity.

before high-bluffs where lookout held, when endless waves would thunder through. Then think that I may never trace their shadowed forms in endless space; or shall I see them evermore, across the plain with boundless hooves.