HOOFS IN THE DARK

I wake in the night, and my heart says, “Hark!” I lie like a corpse in my cool white place. For hoofs go by in the dark, in the dark. I turn on my pillow and bury my face. The night is a tomb that smothers and sounds. The night is a cavern uncressetted. The blood in my ears like a mallet pounds. My heart goes wild and my eyes see red: Red and purple with prickling light, Terrible broken light like glass. For your hoofs go by in the breathing night, And I dare not call you nor see you pass. Loud on the bridge and up the hill, Low and dull on the turfy lawn: You ride with the wind, at the dark wind’s will, With the alien stars, an hour ere dawn. When I am dead, and the tapers burn, As stiff and pale in my place I lie, What shall I do if I cannot turn And bury my face when the hoofs go by? What if my body rose in its shroud, And leaned like a mist the casement through, Being no longer mortal and proud,— Questing you, calling you, claiming you? Would you draw rein? Would you see my face Wan with wonder and love and death Shine out once from the window-space,— Shine, then fade with the frost’s white breath? Would you draw rein? Who knows? The tide Of my blood runs high, and my heart says “Hark!” I have long to live, while you ride—you ride— Out in the dark; out there in the dark.—