And now at last, Comes Traveller and his master. Look at them well. The horse is an iron-grey, sixteen hands high, Short back, deep chest, strong haunch, flat legs, small head, Delicate ear, quick eye, black mane and tail, Wise brain, obedient mouth. Such horses are The jewels of the horseman’s hands and thighs, They go by the word and hardly need the rein. They bred such horses in Virginia then, Horses that were remembered after death And buried not so far from Christian ground That if their sleeping riders should arise They could not witch them from the earth again And ride a printless course along the grass With the old manage and light ease of hand. The rider, now. He too, is iron-grey, Though the thick hair and thick, blunt-pointed beard Have frost in them. Broad-foreheaded, deep-eyed, Straight-nosed, sweet-mouthed, firm-lipped, head cleanly set,