Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,
 And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,
 And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.

 The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,
 The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled;
 And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.

 The snail draws in at the terrible tread,
 But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim
 The worm asks what can be overhead,

 And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,
 And guesses him safe; for he does not know
 What a foul red flood will be soaking him!

 Beaten about by the heel and toe
 Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum,
 To die of a worse than the weather-foe.

 Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb
 Are ears that have greened but will never be gold,
 And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.