THE Wild Ass lounges, legs struck out
In vagrom unconcern:
The tombs o Achaemenian kings
Are for those hooves to spurn.
And all of rugged Tartary
Lies with him on the ground,
The Tartary that knows no awe,
That has nor ban nor bound.
The wild horse from the herd is plucked
To bear a saddle's weight;
The boar is one keeps covert, and
The wolf runs with a mate.
But he's the solitary of space,
Curbless and unbeguiled;
The only being that bears a heart
Not recreant to the wild.
