They ride, they ride, all on astride
ghostly steeds, side by side,
out from the hollow hill they come;
no echoing horns, no beating drum.
in silence march they!

The line, the line, in perfect time,
bold warriors and their ladies, fine;
with gilded helm and silver spear,
their faces grim without a fear
except of breaking day.

They pass, they pass, through shadowed grass,
the column on their silent task;
What ancient battle seeking,
Or is a crowning, queen or king,
their destination?

So bright, so bright; into the night
the column passes out of sight
and all it quiet there, and then
the forest creatures sound again
their ululation.

Copyright © 2013 by John Bliven Morin

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 20th, 2013 at 9:09 pm and is filed under Fairy Poems, John Bliven Morin, Knight Poems, Spiritual. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.