Classic Poem

If when the wind blows
Rattling the trees,
Clicking like skeletons'
Elbows and knees,

You hear along the road
Three horses pass,
Do not go near the dark
Cold window-glass.

If when the first snow lies
Whiter than bones,
You see the mark of hoofs
Cut to the stones,

Hoofs of three horses
Going abreast—
Turn about, turn about,
A closed door is best!

Upright in the earth
Under the sod
They buried three horses,
Bridled and shod,

Daniel Webster's horses—
He said as he grew old,
“Flesh, I loved riding,
Shall I not love it cold?

“Shall I not love to ride
Bone astride bone,
When the cold wind blows
And snow covers stone?

“Bury them on their feet,
With bridle and bit.
They were good horses.
See their shoes fit.”