Between the mountain meadow and the pines
In one still wave the flowered azaleas clomb—
A billow laced and crested with pale foam
Unscattered by the balsam-bearing winds.

High-rearing on their miry haunches, where
Some grassy-bottomed tarn had sunk and died,
A black hog and his mate stood side by side,
Sniffing those elfin blossoms cool and fair.

Straying in new-found freedom, hungry still,
They had gone forth beneath the immaculate sky
Through fir-set fells beyond their broken sty

And lofty valleys, wild and aspen-grown. . .
As those who haply seek for husks and swill
Amid the flowers upon Parnassus blown.