High Falcon & Other Poems/The Mount

​
THE MOUNT
No, I have tempered haste,The joyous traveller said,The steed has passed me nowWhose hurrying hooves I fled.My spectre rides thereon,I learned what mount he has,Upon what summers fed,And wept to know again,Beneath the saddle swung,Treasure for whose great theftThis breast was wrung.His bridle bells sang out,I could not tell their chime,So brilliantly he rings,But called his name as Time.His bin was morning light,Those straws which gild his bedAre of the fallen West.Although green lands consumeBeneath their burning tread,In everlasting brightHis hooves have rest.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.