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.
The small blue stallion poses like a centaur-god,
netting the sun in his sea-spray mane, forgetting
his stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod;
changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill.
Using a US voice spoils the scansion of these verses due to vowel length
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
his stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod; changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill. very fine poem.