Not here is our prize, nor, alas! after these our pursuing.
“A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle,
A passing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty:
We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers.
“(I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses
All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses,
All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.)
“We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind;
We leap to the infinite dark, like sparks from the anvil.
Thou leadest, O God! All’s well with Thy troopers that follow.”