The Raven

A hundred black stallions, still as the night The gray raven spies, in dusk and in flight Their red-rimmed eyes in mania gleam Their breath shivers with passion’s dark sting And still are sitting, rank and file For awhile. A hundred stallions bright, a glacier of white The gray raven spies, in dusk and in flight Their cobalt ice-chips cool to sight Their limbs steady with star-studded might And still are sitting, rank and file For awhile.