Yes, glad as the Greek, and mounted on a horse of the elder gods, With never a magic bridle or a fountain-mirror nigh! My chaps and spurs and holster must have looked it? What's the odds? I'd a leg over lightning and thunder, careering across the sky! And forever streaming before me, fanning my forehead cool, Flowed a mane of molten silver; and just before my thighs (As I gripped his velvet-muscled ribs, while I cursed myself for a fool), The steady pulse of those pinions-their wonderful fall and rise! The bandanna I bought in Bowie blew loose and whipped from my neck. My shirt was stuck to my shoulders and ribboning out. behind. The stars were dancing, wheeling and glancing, dipping with smirk and beck. The clouds were flowing, dusking and glowing. We rode a roaring wind. We soared through the silver starlight to knock at the planets' gates. New shimmering constellations came whirling into our ken. Red stars and green and golden swung out of the void that waits The Horse Thief For man's great last adventure; the Signs took shape— and then I knew the lines of that Centaur the moment I saw him come! The musical-box of the heavens all around us rolled to a tune That tinkled and chimed and trilled with silver sounds that struck you dumb, As if some archangel were grinding out the music of the moon. Melody-drunk on the Milky Way, as we swept and soared hilarious, Full in our pathway, sudden he stood-the Centaur of the Stars, Flashing from head and hoofs and breast! I knew him for Sagittarius. He reared, and bent and drew his bow. He crouched as a boxer spars. Flung back on his haunches, weird he loomed-then leaptand the dim void lightened. Old White Wings shied and swerved aside, and fled from the splendor-shod. Through a flashing welter of worlds we charged. I knew why my horse was frightened. He had two faces-a dog's and a man's-that Babylonian god! ን Also, he followed us real as fear. Ping! went an arrow past. My broncho buck-jumped, humping high. We plunged . I guess that's all! I lay on the purple canyon's lip, when I opened my eyes at last Stiff and sore and my head like a drum, but I broke no bones in the fall. So you know-and now you may string me up. Such was the way you caught me. Thank you for letting me tell it straight, though you never And I'll hang right happy, because I know he is waiting for me up there. From creamy muzzle to cannon-bone, by God, he's a peerless wonder! He is steel and velvet and furnace-fire, and death's suprem est prize; And never again shall be roped on earth that neck that is "clothed with thunder" String me up, Dave! Go dig my grave! I rode him across the skies! William Rose Benét CROSS PATCH Her ardent spirit ran beyond her years As light before a flame. At fifteen, the tennis medal; at sixteen, the golf cup; Then the coveted!-bluest of blue ribbons For faultless horsemanship. No man in all that country, Whatever his sport, But had to own the girl a better man. As that she merely laughed saying that triumph He wins inevitably. Half bewilderment, half jest, They called her Sprite, those ordinary folk Who thought such urge, such instinct of life to joy Was somehow mythical. And having named her, they no longer thought of her, But when she strode among the horses in the field No leash could hold a dog when she passed by. Then, despite her ardent race with time— Ardent as though each moment were a dare To some adventure of freed muscle and thrilled nerve A fleeter runner overtook her flight And bound her tightly in a golden net Hands, feet and bosom; lips and hair and eyes Beauty, beauty of women. Or was it she, unconscious what she raced, Ran suddenly, breathless, glad and yet dismayed, Which, no one knew, herself the least of all. As eager to leave the very flesh behind, But stayed with it in deep and rapturous content; Henceforth within upon a secret goal. Spirit and beauty seemed to flow together, Each rapt in each Like a hushed lily in a hidden pool. Only at dances did the sprite peep out, Ardent and yet controlled, Alive to every turn and slope of the rhythm As if the music spread a path for her To what she truly sought. 'Twas at a dance she found it-found the man And no one had to question what she found: Her eyes, her very finger-tips, proclaimed The marvel it was to be a part of her, A part of love. |