The Phantom Horsewoman

III

Of this vision of his they might say more:

Not only there

Does he see this sight,

But everywhere

In his brain–day, night,

As if on the air

It were drawn rose bright–

Yea, far from that shore

Does he carry this vision of heretofore:

IV

A ghost-girl-rider. And though, toil-tried,

He withers daily,

Time touches her not,

But she still rides gaily

In his rapt thought

On that shagged and shaly

Atlantic spot,

And as when first eyed

Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.