Nor was the speed, returning, slow

Nor was the speed, returning, slow; The mare was more inclined to go, Because the feed of oats and hay Unfinished in her manger lay. So through the yard she wheeled her load As briskly as she took the road. No time remained to then undo The many straps which tight they drew. For in the east the reddening sky Gave warning that the sun was nigh.