Alone he rides, alone, The fair and fatal king: Dark night is all his own, That strange and solemn thing.

Vanquished in life, his death By beauty made amends: The passing of his breath Won his defeated ends.

Because of thee, the land of dreams Becomes a gathering place of fears: Until tormented slumber seems One vehemence of useless tears.

Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are …

Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.

I think, ofttimes, that lives of men may be Likened to wandering winds that come and go Not knowing whence they rise, whither they blow O'er the vast globe, vo…