Gustave Courbet Forest in Autumn painting

Gustave Courbet Forest in Autumn paintingTheodore Robinson View of the Seine paintingTheodore Robinson Willows and Wildflowers painting
I am listening," the unicorn cried. "Where are my people, and what is the Red Bull?"
But the butterfly swooped close to her ear, laughing. "IAt least he did recognize me, she thought sadly. That means something. But she answered herself, No, that means nothing at all, except that somebody once made up a song about unicorns, or a poem. But the Red Bull. What could he have meant by that? Another song, I suppose.
have nightmares about crawling around on the ground," he sang. "The little dogs, Tray, Blanche, Sue, they bark at me, the little snakes, they hiss at me, the beggars are coming to town. Then at last come the clams."
For a moment more he danced in the dusk before her; then he shivered away into the violet shadows by the roadside, chanting defiantly, "It's you or me, moth! Hand to hand to hand to hand to hand ..." The last the unicorn saw of him was a tiny skittering between the trees, and her eyes might have deceived her, for the night was full of wings now.