Ghost Riders

A wilderness of wildest grass

Sweeping like waves across a sea,

As green as time, as fresh as dawn,

The wind that cuts us drives us on

There is that sound that sweet refrain

It’s in my heart it’s in my brain,

But nothing comes no snorting steeds,

No racehorses between the trees,

But only sounds like distant bells

Of some strange church the final knell

Of misty music, tossing mane

Of horses prancing in the rain,

Sounds are all that we will hear

For they are gone full thousand year

Their ghosts will haunt the rolling downs

Their steaming breath is seen between

The seeping mist and rising sun,

They may be here but they are gone.