The Conversion Of Aurelian McGoggin

Ride with an idle whip, ride with an unused heel,
But, once in a way, there will come a day
When the colt must be taught to feel
The lash that falls, and the curb that galls, and the sting
of the rowelled steel.

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

Rudyard

Chapter Headings - Many Inventions

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

Tod's Amendment

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

The Love Song Of Har Dyal

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

The Rupaiyat Of Omar Kal'vin

Rudyard , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Centaurs

Up came the young Centaur-colts from the plains they were fathered in,
Curious, awkward, afraid.
Burrs on their hocks and their tails, they were branded and gathered in
Mobs and run up to the yard to be made.

Starting and shying at straws, with sidlings and plungings,
Buckings and whirlings and bolts;
Greener than grass, but full-ripe for their bridling and lungings,
Up to the yards and to Chiron they bustled the colts...

First the light web and the cavesson; then the linked keys
To jingle and turn on the tongue. Then, with cocked ears,
The hours of watching and envy, while comrades at ease
Passaged and backed, making naught of these terrible gears.

Next, over-pride and its price at the low-seeming fence
Too oft and too easily taken, the world-beheld fall!<...

Rudyard

Thrown Away

Stopped in the straight when the race was his own
Look at him cutting itcur to the bone!
Ask ere the youngster be rated and chidden
What did he carry and how was he ridden?
May be they used him too much at the start.
May be Fate's weight-cloth are breaking his heart.

And some are sulky, while some will plunge.
(So ho! Steady! Stand still, you!)
Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge.
(There! There! Who wants to kill you?)
Some, there are losses in every trade,
Wreck their hearts ere bitted and made,
Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard,
And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard.

Rudyard

The Old Grey Mare

    There's a line of rails on an upland green
    With a good take-off and a landing sound,
    Six fences grim as were ever seen,
    And it's there I would be with fox and hound.
    Oh, that was a country free and fair
    For the raking stride of my old grey mare!

    With her raking stride, and her head borne high,
    And her ears a-prick, and her heart a-flame,
    And the steady look of her deep brown eye,
    I warrant the grey mare knew the game:
    It was "Up to it, lass," and before I knew
    We were up and over, and on we flew.

    The rooks from the grass got up, and so,
    With a caw and flap, away they went;
    When the grey mare made up her mind to go
    At the tail of the bounds on a breast-high scent,
    The best of the st...

R. C. Lehmann

The Iron Horse.

    No song is mine of Arab steed -
    My courser is of nobler blood,
    And cleaner limb and fleeter speed,
        And greater strength and hardihood
    Than ever cantered wild and free
    Across the plains of Araby.

    Go search the level desert-land
    From Sana on to Samarcand -
    Wherever Persian prince has been
    Or Dervish, Sheik or Bedouin,
    And I defy you there to point
        Me out a steed the half so fine -
    From tip of ear to pastern-joint -
        As this old iron horse of mine.

    You do not know what beauty is -
        You do not know what gentleness
        His answer is to my caress! -
    Why, look upon this gait of his, -
    A touch upon his iron rein -
        He moves with such a stately gr...

James Whitcomb Riley

By Flood And Field - A Legend Of The Cottiswold

They have saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They have bridled a hundred black. Old Ballad.
He turned in his saddle, now follow who dare.
I ride for my country, quoth * *.
- Lawrence.


I remember the lowering wintry morn,
And the mist on the Cotswold hills,
Where I once heard the blast of the huntsmans horn,
Not far from the seven rills.
Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. Clair,
Bob Chapman and Andrew Kerr,
And big George Griffiths on Devil-May-Care,
And, black Tom Oliver.
And one who rode on a dark-brown steed,
Clean jointed, sinewy, spare,
With the lean game head of the Blacklock breed,
And the resolute eye that loves the lead,
And the quarters massive and square,
A tower of strength, with a promise of speed
(There wa...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Council Of Horses.

        A steed with mutiny inspired
        The stud which grazed the mead, and fired
        A colt, whose eyes then blazing fire,
        Stood forth and thus expressed his ire:

        "How abject is the equine race,
        Condemned to slavery's disgrace!
        Consider, friends, the deep reproach -
        Harnessed to drag the gilded coach,
        To drag the plough, to trot the road,
        To groan beneath the pack-horse load!
        Whom do we serve? - a two-legged man,
        Of feeble frame, of visage wan.
        What! must our noble jaws submit
        To champ and foam their galling bit?
        He back and spur me? Let him first
        Control the lion - tiger's thirst:
        I here avow that I disdain
        His might, th...

John Gay