human
One old populous green wall Tenanted by the ever-busy flies, Grey crickets and shy lizards and quick spiders, Each family of the silver-threaded moss-- Which, look through near, this way, and it appears A stubble-field or a cane-brake, a marsh Of bulrush whitening in the sun....
gpt
Past the high rocks the haunts of doves, the mounds Of red earth from whose sides strange trees grow out, Past tracks of milk-white minute blinding sand.