Climbing the bridge's slope, a little lad,
I looked up and beheld in bright sunlight,
Against a billowing April cloud, blue-black,
Heavy with threat of hail, a monster white
High-stepping steed with the rider scarlet-clad
Like a flame-robed archangel on its back.

The spark-red nostril and the flashing eye,
The scarlet rider in the sun afire
Against the storm-cloud—shot with thrilling dread
My little heart ahunger with desire
Of angel visions: then, as they went by,
I knew 'twas old Jake Dodd in hunting-red—

Jake Dodd, the whipper-in, on his white Jill.
The sun was blotted out; the hail threshed down,
Scattering the glory. Jake and his old mare
Have long been dust—yet, on the bridge's crown,
In the child's heart within my heart, Jake still
Rides, an archangel burning through the air.