Tilly Ernest John Moeran

He travels after a winter sun
Urging the cattle along a cold red road
Calling to them, a voice they know
He drives his beasts above Cabra

The voice tells them home is warm
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs
He drives them with a flowering branch before him
Smoke pluming their foreheads

Boor, bond of the herd
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!