Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE RIDING OF PEACEFUL HENRY, by GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE RIDING OF PEACEFUL HENRY, by                    
First Line: I am the son of the wind and the plain
Last Line: One horse there was that I did not ride.
Subject(s): Animals; Horseback Riding; Horses


I am the son of the wind and the plain,
Long and lean and tawny of hide.
Steer and stallion have known my will.
One horse there was that I did not ride.

Spring in the country of the sky
And the great shan khive, the Indian feast,
Games and races and feats of strength --
The bucks came herding from west and east.
Booths and trinkets, glitter and dust,
Crowds who jostled their way along,
In from the ranches, in from the range,
A shouting, hilarious, holiday throng;
Every man of them brought his girl
And I brought mine, brown, wilful Sue --
Eyes as deep as the midnight sky,
Hair like clouds when the sun shines through,
Lips like the scarlet pomgranate flower,
Never a range of them all
But envied and stared and pressed us close
Little cattle that crowd at the evening call.

For she was queen of the Ninety Mile
And I was proud as a crested hill.
I meant to dazzle her eyes and heart,
And tame her wilfulness to my will
We followed the lure of the glittering booths,
I gave her all of my pay to spend
Like a comet's trail on a windy night
We swept the shan khive from end to end.

The fun grew furious and fast.
Now they were bringing the horses out.
And up from the crowded, clamorous place,
Beating the heights, rolled shout on shout.
Out came the horses, twenty or more,
Nostrils aquiver -- eager to run.
Lean and hardy and nimble-hoofed --
But the clamor and shouting were all for one,
There like a star in the midst he stood,
Black as the night, with his lines of wonder,
Mighty shoulders, sinews of steel,
Proud neck lifted and arched with thunder.
Peaceful Henry was what they called him.
Him -- this marvel of grace and fire,
No man had ridden, no man could ride him.
Buck or rangeman, son or sire.
Every year from the range they brought him
With a bag of gold to his saddle tied,
Much good gold for the one who'd win it,
But no man rode him, no man could ride.

"Peaceful Henry" they hailed him madly.
"Here's your horse, boys, come and try.
Five thousand cash for a trip to heaven,
Five thousand gold for a chance to die."
Brown Sue's eyes went aflame with light.
Her lips sought mine, for the world to see,
"Ride him!" she said, "for this kiss -- and win
The gold -- and Peaceful Henry -- and me!"
The fire of her eyes scorched through my viens,
I went clear mad with her sudden kiss --
Moon-dazed and mad with the glorious stake.
It was life to win, it was death to miss --
I seized the saddle, amid their shouts,
The bit, the bridle -- I cinched him fast --
He whirled, he struggled, he lashed, he reared --
Missed by a foot -- I was up at last!

I clawed and clung like a demon rider.
Steer and stallion had known my will.
I gripped his ribs with knees of iron,
Gripped him tighter and tighter still.
Here I was astride of a comet,
The earth was turned to thunder and flame.
I cursed my folly, I cursed the Wonder
And knew his wildness too great to tame.
Then, at the worst, while my straining heart
Was bursting my ribs -- I felt it come.
The sudden slack of his mighty muscles,
His proud neck drooping -- it struck me dumb.
He was mine! I had conquered him -- mine to ride --
The marvel, with limbs of steel and fire!
From the grace of his head to the flow of his tail
He was mine to ride at my heart's desire!

Mine -- and the girl -- and the gold -- then why
Should my fool throat ache and my eyes grow dim,
And the beat of my madly racing heart
Turn heavy and sick at the thought of him?
Proud and tameless one, there he faltered.
His free born breath was a sobbing wheeze,
Nothing so sad as his drooping shoulders
And the sag of his muscles beneath my knees.
Break him -- the bold and beautiful,
Shod with freedom across the range;
Break him -- I knew how a heart can sicken,
Strain at life's halter, droop and change.
Hobbled and staked and bitted and bridled,
All that was flame in him turned to clay.
Once, not twice does God make perfection
That men may break it and throw it away.

* * * * *

No one guessed but the Wonder and I.
Just for a second my knees went slack.
-- The stars shot downward and -- well, that's all --
I opened my eyes in the grass on my back.

The girl? She went with a better man --
The gold? It's waiting each year to be won.
Peaceful Henry? He gallops the heights
Where they reach the straightest up to the sun.
And I am the son of the wind and the plain,
Long and lean and tawny of hide.
Steer and stallion have known my will,
One horse there was that I did not ride.





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