The King

They rode right out of the morning sun -     A glimmering, glittering cavalcade     Of knights and ladies and every one     In princely sheen arrayed;     And the king of them all, O he rode ahead,     With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red     That spurted about in the breeze and bled     In the bloom of the everglade.     And they rode high over the dewy lawn,     With brave, glad banners of every hue     That rolled in ripples, as they rode on     In splendor, two and two;     And the tinkling links of the golden reins     Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains     As the castanets in a dream of Spain's     Intensest gold and blue.     And they rode and rode; and the steeds they neighed     And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides     Flickered and lightened and glanced and played     Like the moon on rippling tides;     And their manes were silken, and thick and strong,     And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long,     And jostled in time to the teeming throng,     And their knightly song besides.     Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur,     And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild     In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her     As one at a wilful child,     And as knight and lady away they flew,     And the banners flapped, and the falcon too,     And the lances flashed and the bugle blew,     He kissed his hand and smiled.     And then, like a slanting sunlit shower,     The pageant glittered across the plain,     And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower     Was only a crimson stain.     And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast,     As he blends these words with the wailing blast:     "It is the King of the Year rides past!"     And Autumn is here again.