Grim is the face that looks into the night Over the stretch of sands; A sullen rock in a sea of white — A ghostly shadow in ghostly light,
Peering and moaning it stands. “Oh, is it the king that rides this way — Oh, is it the king that rides so free? I have looked for the king this many a day,
But the years that mock me will not say Why tarrieth he!” ‘ T is not your king that shall ride to-night, But a child that is fast asleep;
And the horse he shall ride is the Dream-horse white — Aha, he shall speed through the ghostly light Where the ghostly shadows creep! “My eyes are dull and my face is sere,
Yet unto the word he gave I cling, For he was a Pharaoh that set me here — And, lo! I have waited this many a year For him — my king!”
Oh, past thy face my darling shall ride Swift as the burning winds that bear The sand clouds over the desert wide — Swift to the verdure and palms beside
The wells off there! “And is it the mighty king I shall see Come riding into the night? Oh, is it the king come back to me —
Proudly and fiercely rideth he, With centuries dight!” I know no king but my dark-eyed dear That shall ride the Dream-Horse white;
But see! he wakes at my bosom here, While the Dream-Horse frettingly lingers near To speed with my babe to-night! And out of the desert darkness peers
A ghostly, ghastly, shadowy thing Like a spirit come out of the mouldering years, And ever that waiting spectre hears The coming king!
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