Classic Poem

When on my faithful charger
I spur on knightly quest,
And see the star grow larger
Above the colour'd west,
I halt upon some moorland knoll
And gaze till all is black;
So like thyself, O stedfast soul!
It glistens on my track.

The plover whistles by me,
The hern sails overhead:
Night-prowling eyes descry me
And think me frozen dead.
They circle round my silent steed,
And slink off to their prey:
I give to all that is no heed,
But watch that constant ray.

Cold crimson mists rise to it,
And darkness drinks its light:
But inward fires renew it,
And still it falls more bright.
It falls behind the world's black rim.
'Tis hidden ere I stir:
Then purely strong in heart and limb,
I give again the spur.