I ride a ghastly, palish horse,
his hair is ghoulish, sharp and coarse;
We ride upon the night: a rave -
no sound about us beyond the brave,
and the sighing dying no god could save,
but reaped and stolen by the glaive.
And fear in hearts of men we stir,
when I give my palish horse the spur,
and soundless shrieks of still and void
greet the darkness, overjoyed.