Once again, one struggle good,
    One vain effort;—he must dwell
Near the shifted post, that stood
Where the splinters of the wood,
    Lying in the torn tracks, tell
    How he struck and fell.

Crest where cold drops beaded cling,
    Small ear drooping, nostril full,
Glazing to a scarlet ring,
Flanks and haunches quivering,
    Sinews stiff’ning, void and null,
    Dumb eyes sorrowful.

Satin coat that seems to shine
    Duller now, black braided tress,
That a softer hand than mine
Far away was wont to twine,
    That in meadows far from this
    Softer lips might kiss.

All is over! this is death,
    And I stand to watch thee die,
Brave old horse! with ’bated breath
Hardly drawn through tight-clenched teeth,
    Lip indented deep, but eye
    Only dull and dry.

Musing on the husk and chaff
    Gather’d where life’s tares are sown,
Thus I speak, and force a laugh
That is half a sneer and half
    An involuntary groan,
    In a stifled tone—

“Rest, old friend! thy day, though rife
    With its toil, hath ended soon;
We have had our share of strife,
Tumblers in the mask of life,
    In the pantomime of noon
    Clown and pantaloon.

“With the flash that ends thy pain
    Respite and oblivion blest
Come to greet thee. I in vain
Fall: I rise to fall again:
    Thou hast fallen to thy rest—
    And thy fall is best!”