I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses, All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses; All night, from their stalls, the importunate tramping and neighing. Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle, Straight, grim, and abreast, go the weatherworn, galloping legion, With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him. The trail is through dolor and dread, over crags and morasses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appeal or entice us: What odds? We are knights, and our souls are but bent on the riding. I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses, All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses; All night, from their stalls, the importunate tramping and neighing. We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind; We leap to the infinite dark, like the sparks from the anvil. Thou leadest, O God! All ’s well with Thy troopers that follow.
The Wild Ride
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