"My ardent horse, why are you neighing?
Why are you hanging your neck?
Why do you not shake you mane,
Not nibble your bit?
Do I not care for you?
Or don't you eat enough oats?
Is your harness not beautiful?
Is your rein made not of silk?
Are your shoes not of silver?
Are your stirrups not of gilt?"
The sad horse answers:
"I am so quiet because
I hear the distant trample,
Sound of trumpet and arrow's song;
I am neighing because there is not
Time left for me to walk in the fields,
To live in glory and care
And show my bright harness;
Because soon the cruel enemy
Will take all my harness,
And will tear my silver shoes away
From my weightless feet;
My soul moans because
Instead of the horse-cloth
He will cover my sweaty sides
With your own skin."