As a stallion full-fed at the manger, stalled too long,
breaking free of his tether gallops down the plain,
out for his favorite plunge in a river’s cool currents,
thundering in his pride – his head flung back, his mane
streaming over his shoulders, sure and sleek in his glory.
knees racing him on to the fields and stallion-haunts he loves –
so down from Pergamus heights came Paris, son of Priam,
glittering in his armor like the sun astride the skies,
exultant, laughing aloud, his fast feet sped him on.
– Homer