Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollcock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lakes fall home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fawn froth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, fell frowning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew,
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