Down into ashes dropped away,
While from the lattice worn and white,
In the moonshine waning with the night,
A steed was seen like the drifted snow
As it galloped across the plain below,
Swift as an arrow from its bow;
With the slouchèd hat and the dingy frock
Of the figure that sat near the corner and clock,
And which came and went without nod or knock.
And they that remained on each other bent