Pegasus in Pound
Pegasus in Pound is this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Once into a quiet village,
 :Without haste and without heed,
In the golden prime of morning,
 :Strayed the poet's winged steed.
It was Autumn, and incessant
 :Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
 :Burned among the withering leaves.
Loud the clamorous bell was ringing
 :From its belfry gaunt and grim;
'T was the daily call to labor,
 :Not a triumph meant for him.
Not the less he saw the landscape,
 :In its gleaming vapor veiled;
Not the less he breathed the odors
 :That the dying leaves exhaled.
Thus, upon the village common,
 :By the school-boys he was found;
And the wise men, in their wisdom,
 :Put him straightway into pound.
Then the sombre village crier,
 :Ringing loud his brazen bell,
Wandered down the street proclaiming
 :There was an estray to sell.
And the curious country people,
 :Rich and poor, and young and old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous
 :Winged steed, with mane of gold.
Thus the day passed, and the evening
 :Fell, with vapors cold and dim;
But it brought no food nor shelter,
 :Brought no straw nor stall, for him.
Patiently, and still expectant,
 :Looked he through the wooden bars,
Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape,
 :Saw the tranquil, patient stars;
Till at length the bell at midnight
 :Sounded from its dark abode,
And, from out a neighboring farm-yard
 :Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.
Then, with nostrils wide distended,
 :Breaking from his iron chain,
And unfolding far his pinions,
 :To those stars he soared again.
On the morrow, when the village
 :Woke to all its toil and care,
Lo! the strange steed had departed,
 :And they knew not when nor where.
But they found, upon the greensward
 :Where his straggling hoofs had trod,
Pure and bright, a fountain flowing
 :From the hoof-marks in the sod.
From that hour, the fount unfailing
 :Gladdens the whole region round,
Strengthening all who drink its waters,
 :While it soothes them with its sound.