THROUGH the purple dusk on this pathless heath Wanders a horse with its rider, Death. The steed like its master is old and grim, And the flame in his eye is burning dim. The crown of the rider is red with gold, For he is lord of the lea and the wold. A-tween his ribs, against the sky Glimmer the stars as he rideth by. A hungry scythe o'er his shoulder bare Glints afar through the darkening air, And the sudden clank of his horse's hoof Frightens the Wanderer aloof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRIENDS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE FOREST POOL by MATHILDE BLIND NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 14 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AN ORIENTAL BALLAD by BERTON BRALEY MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE by ROBERT BURNS SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE by ROBERT BURNS |