Bellerophon, your name to me
Clashes the cymbals of the sun
And rides the green dusk windily,
Bellerophon!

Not Ganymede, nor Corydon,
Nor any king of Arcady,
Not fire-plumed Hyperion —

Not one of these dins audibly:
The fierce wings of your name outrun
White sea-hoofs thundering on the sea,