Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.
"The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, Filling the room with their fragrant scent.
"The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Then down the road, with mud besprent, And drenched with rain from head to hoof, The rain-drops dripping from his mane And tail as from a pent-house roof, A jaded horse, his head down bent, Passed slowly, limping as he went.
"The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow