Capitolo 47
you lift on their voices with to whine for night to come; the horses, ruffled
and shivering, with their tails to the wind as them they them ice cream
forage, or it paws under through the hoarfrost to the grass frozen, while causing
their frozen fetlocks to beat around them strikes with the clog; the bovine livestock, crowded to
downwind of some it deep-buried heap of hay, the side statement of the extreme
of their white with whirling bows; the sheep, turning them compassionate,
confident eyes around them on the fields of storm in earth and sky!
What a twilight joy to gather them house to food and heat and rest!
If there is never once when I feel me a gentleman of mediaeval to trusted
vassals, are then. Of a truth I pass completely on the Centuries Averages,
connecting my life to the most ancient inhabitants of the plans, and
becoming a simple father of flocks and herds. When they has duly been
put in the stall according to their son-in-laws, I climb to the manger in the barn and
you create a great landslide of the fat ears that I/you/they am as laughter; and
then in every stall that that a cordial choir, healthy to whine and
answers of petitions to that laughter of the corn! What screams and
persuasive of grunts over the kingdoms of rhetoric! That that a strenuous breath of
pulpy horns from the cows! And the rapid nostril trumpet-calls of the
horse, as anxious, as employee, anchor as imposing! As I climb on the
top of the pole, if I ever feel me a real character that is then; ME
climbs my throne; I am king of the corn; and there is not a beast
farmer in my dominion that as rule of sky doesn't adore me and
earth.
Or me hook to take on the bundles of oats as them they are thrown down from
the attic and it sends them turning so through the penetrating-box fast that
they pours in the great baskets as brooks of fused gold; or,
understanding my pitchfork, I fill the ricks on the mangers with the rich one
aromatic hay until me I am as heat as when I loaded the wagons with him to
middays in half summer.