After long labour on the patient
ground:
The plough, the cart, the miserable
machine;
After the frost-hard mornings,
streaming rain,
The heart-cold silences, the
knifing wind,
The hard jerk of the harness,
straining toil,
The scant-filled manger and the
draughty barn;
After the angry words or kindly pats,
The weather and the blether and the
pain,
To yearn for rest yet do it all
again ..
Not thus to find one’s immortality
In harness still, the endless round
to tread.
The dream still potent, though yet
unfulfilled,
Declares another way they had not
said.
Another way – where hooves flash
from the ground
Into fleet air to sing across the
sky
As sharp as lightning or the vivid
stars
As free as laughter soaring in
delight.
Servant no longer to the goals of
man,
Servant no longer to the gruelling
day,
Servant no longer to sad servitude.
Here strength makes partner with
dear liberty:
To run for joy in having legs to
run,
Or rest content, with boundless
time to rest
In sweetest meadows
underneath the sun.
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