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Rh That spy upon our matings,

That rope us where we run—

They know the strong White Horses

From father unto son.

We breathe about their cradles,

We race their babes ashore,

We snuff against their thresholds,

We nuzzle at their door;

By day with stamping squadrons,

By night in whinnying droves,

Creep up the wise White Horses,

To call them from their loves.

And come they for your calling?

No wit of man may save.

They hear the loosed White Horses

Above their father's grave;

And, kin of those we crippled,

And, sons of those we slew,

Spur down the wild white riders

To school the herds anew.