Galloping, galloping, cometh the horseman.
Far in the faraway, hear the wild ride.
Dimness or darkness, brightening or light,
Sounds of the burning hoofs;
Cry of the fiery-eyed steed
Out of the western storms,
Sprung from the thunder clap,
Flashing great bolts in his mane,
The rider looming again,
Holding one hand on high,
Rounded against the sky,
Buffalo skin stretched for the sound,
Sound to be poured back to the ground,
Ground circling just as round,
Round like betwixt spine and mind,
Throbbing, beating, shaking with H