Phantom Hoofs

Only,

Man will be more lonely.

We cannot love a force

As we loved, and love, the horse.

Yet we dare not too much weep,

Though Bucephalus and Rosinante sleep.

Their pains are past; their rest is deep.

Still, when moon or starlight gleams,

Often we shall hear in dreams,

Passing near our human roofs,

The beat and rhythm of the hoofs.