1. The morning dew feeds his beauty,
Making the handsome one handsomer.

2. His eyes are dark when night falls,
You'd think it was still night though dawn lit his face.

3. Three marks are long on him,
Three short, marked by his cheek stripe,

4. An old white forelock has fed on his brow,
His hoof remains sated with blueness.

5. His strides are over, though his neck still thrusts out
When urged on, his withers approaching his crupper.

6. If his gaze shifts to the faraway,
He quickens the slow to a canter.

7. You'd think him the wind when it sends him away
Or lightning's flash when his shoulder blades appear.

8. If on race day his rival outstripped him at first,
He'd overtake him and gain the prize of the run.

9. He flows like a river beneath his rider
Then sometimes his neck makes him take to the air.

10. You'd think him an arrow alongside its notch
Outstripping the glances of eyes in its smoothness.

11. His forelegs are supple when mares are in season,
In running, his sweat is the best kind of scent.

12. Capacious the span of his belt and his shoulders,
Loud the ring of the bells on his bridle.