It was a mystery of life,
Yet, is a mystery of death.
This proud mountain beauty,
Now laid down in rest.
The stallion was pale, as winter moon,
The offspring of a royal brood.
Hid in the day from any eye,
Then when night came, away did he fly.
Oh, what a beautiful twilight bliss,
When the moonlight would lean down and kiss,
His coat of pearl and his mane of coal!
And though now lying still and cold,
There often rings a midnight sound,
Of pounding hooves that pierce the ground.