Ran over; saw him pause against the gloom,
Portentous, huge—a brooder upon doom.
What did he look upon?
Some moments passed;
Then suddenly it seemed as though a blast
Of wind, keen-cutting with the whips of sleet,
Smote horse and rider. Haunched on huddled feet,
The steed shrank from the ridge, then, rearing, wheeled
And took the rubbly incline fury-heeled.
Those days and nights, like seasons creeping slow,