Poetry Archives

Who rideth through the driving rain
  At such a headlong speed?
Naked and pale he rides amain
  Upon a naked steed.

Nor hollow nor height his going bars,
  His wet steed shines like silk,
His head is golden to the stars
  And his limbs are white as milk.

But, lo, he dwindles as the light
  That lifts from a black mere,
And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,
  The steed grows mightier.

What wizard by yon holy tree
  Mutters unto the sky
Where Macha’s flame-tongued horses flee
  On hoofs of thunder by?

Ah, ’tis not holy so to ban
  The youth of kingly seed:
Ah! woe, the wasting of a man
  Who changes to a steed!

Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,
  When Macha’s day is nigh,
He gallops; and the dark wind brings
  His lonely human cry.