Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, YOUNG HORSES, by E. R MURRAY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

YOUNG HORSES, by                    
First Line: Over the river by gravel and gum
Last Line: On hearts that will never know freedom again.
Subject(s): Animals; Freedom; Horses; Liberty


OVER the river by gravel and gum,
To a thunder of hoofbeats, hard-driven they come,
A host of young horses, and riders who sway
Like a reed to the wind, and are round and away,
When they find that the brumby has broken again
To challenge their whips to the width of a plain.

Soon they swing in to the red raddled roofs
Where the echoes are held to a thunder of hoofs,
When the bark of the whip and the bite of the lash
Have taken their toll in a venomous flash
Of the leaders who balk to do battle too late,
For the freedom that fades at the fall of the gate.

And so they are yarded, the pride of the stud
By virtue of breeding, a triumph of blood;
The browns and the blacks—where some mare of the strain
Has thrown a colt to the colour again
Of the gallant old stallion whose paces were known
Wherever great horses in harness were shown.

And here there's a filly, a fine little bay,
From her head to her heels she's a winner they say;
While down by the stalls there's a Saracen colt,
His mother was one of the breed of Revolt,
And what of his future? It's two to one on
He'll go to the south where his brothers have gone.

Then there is a hackney—his withers are wide,
For those who would relish a rocking-chair ride;
While down by the gateway, all gathered in dust,
The geldings are waiting, the roan and the rust,
That by virtue of breeding are fated from birth,
To the grip of the saddle, the gall of the girth.

For theirs is the sentence, the service unsung,
Of lowly bush labour by sheep-road and -run;
And when stout hearts are telling the tale of their worth
It is never in praise for the pride of their birth
But in sagas of service by high way or low,
Out west where the rivers run sluggish and slow,

Or north where the waters run wide at their fount,
And the life of a man is the speed of his mount
When the cattle stampede, till the breath of the wind
Couldn't match 'em for speed when the horses behind
Join the issue with Death in a battle of wits,
With their paces as free as the foam on their bits....

A host of young horses, high fettled with fun;
Satin coats catching the glance of the sun,
Puzzled lips picking the hard-bitten rails,
Tender feet treading the pad of new trails;
And wistful eyes watching the shadows that run
Away to the west in the wake of the sun.

The paddock's their prison, their home was the plain;
Their kindly companions, the wind and the rain
That together at even, to exiles, will bring
A breath of the hill-top, the bird on the wing,
And a memory of pastures imprinted with pain
On hearts that will never know freedom again.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net