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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I,
Born of Ixion’s and the cloud’s embrace;
With sounding hoofs across the earth I fly,
A steed Thessalian with a human face.
Sharp winds the arrows are with which I chase
The leaves, half dead already with affright;
I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race
Of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight.

Online text © 1998-2009 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 1890

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