On the back of a horse, be it black, white, or roan,
Or chestnut, or bay,
Or piebald, or grey,
Or dun-brown (though a notion my memory crosses
That ’tis asses are usually done brown, not horses),
When on horseback, I say, in the dead of the night,
Nearly dark, if not quite,
In despite of the light
Of the moon shining bright-
ish—yes, not more than -ish, for the planet’s cold rays I