Even as the cattle in the winter woods,
Hearing their master's old familiar shout,
Come shouldering down to the remembered pastures
Deep in the valley, answering faithful lowing,
Each stepping in her order,
Till through the twilight of the naked branches
Glints the last straggler's horn:
So came the legions from the uttermost isles
Of Britain, where they held the Scots in leash,
And those that were a wall against the Ruhr,
And cowed the churls of Hesse and Thüringen,
They've turned the splendid menace of their line
Against the threat to Italy: they're gone.
The right bank's naked of its garrison.
Naught but the terror of the Roman name
Defends an open frontier.
To-night there is no watch upon the Rhine.