HORSE AND AWAY 



;WAKE, O sluggard ! The cock 

 crows clear for dawn ; the cool 

 black darkness pales to tender 

 gray. Saddle ; mount upon 

 the instant ; shake free rein 

 and stirrup and tossing mane, then away as 

 the arrow from bended bow. 



The creek lies a mile ahead. Down, 

 down you go a long, gentle slope, from 

 whose sparse flints the hoofs strike fire. 

 Truly it is breath of life you draw in this 

 rush through dew-fresh air. A fair world, 

 indeed, smiles up from either hand, but you 

 have no eye, no thought, for it. 



The thrilling, breathless motion wraps 

 you away from other sense. Till the long 

 incline is covered and you draw rein at the 

 creek, you look not at wood or field, or the 

 east faintly mottled with rose, or the blue- 

 gray overhead, wherein pale stars fight still 

 a losing battle with the day. 



The mirroring stream makes of them 



