140 



then away, away, as though Death lay be- 

 hind, Paradise before. 



Away ! away ! The air sings in your ears ; 

 wide fields reel past; the hedge-row trees 

 show tall, green - sheeted ghosts. Horse 

 and rider are at one drunken with wine 

 o' the morning. Trifle's pink nostrils are 

 aflame. She snuffs the breeze, lays her 

 small ears back, and, with a low, exultant 

 whinny, leaves Princess a length behind. 



For the wink of your eyelid only. The 

 black mare is at her quarter her girth her 

 shoulder; the dark crest flashes past the 

 bright one ; two pairs of eyes gleam with 

 emulous fire. 



Neck and neck, with spurning hoofs, with 

 straining muscles, in the wild, electric rush 

 of generous blood, they cleave the rain-wall, 

 heedless alike of thunder pealing overhead, 

 of lightning flaring yellow and spectral on 

 the earth at foot. Ever and anon a flying 

 hoof is tipped with fire. Truly, blood tells 

 and no dead giant of all their famous 

 line ran ever a gallanter race. 



What drops fall so fast out of this rainy 

 heaven ! So big, so bright, softly warm as 

 a dream of summer. The kiss of them, as 

 they pelt you and patter, is something for 

 glad remembrance all the days of your life. 



