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Ah； my darling！ no one saw it。 Purer than untrodden dew
Was that first unhappy passion buried in the grave with you。
Bird and leaf will keep the secret … wind and wood will never tell
Men the thing that I have whispered。 Mary Rivers； fare you well！
Page： 13
KINGSBOROUGH
A waving of hats and of hands；
The voices of thousands in one；
A shout from the ring and the stands；
And a glitter of heads in the sun！
‘‘They are off … they are off！'' is the roar；
As the cracks settle down to the race；
With the ‘‘yellow and black'' to the fore；
And the Panic blood forcing the pace。
At the back of the course； and away
Where the running…ground home again wheels；
Grubb travels in front on the bay；
With a feather…weight hard at his heels。
Page： 14
But Yeomans； you see； is about；
And the wily New Zealander waits；
Though the high…blooded flyer is out；
Whose rider and colours are Tait's。
Look！ Ashworth comes on with a run
To the head of the Levity colt；
And the fleet … the magnificent son
Of Panic is shooting his bolt。
Hurrah for the Weatherbit strain！
A Fireworks is first in the straight；
And ‘‘A Kelpie will win it again！''
Is the roar from the ring to the gate。
The leader must have it … but no！
For see； full of running； behind
A beautiful； wonderful foe
With the speed of the thunder and wind！
Page： 15
A flashing of whips； and a cry；
And Ashworth sits down on his horse；
With Kingsborough's head at his thigh
And the ‘‘field'' scattered over the course！
In a clamour of calls and acclaim
The pair race away from the ‘‘ruck：''
The horse to the last of it game …
A marvel of muscle and pluck！
But the foot of the Sappho is there；
And Kingston's invincible strength；
And the numbers go up in the air …
The colt is the first by a length！
The first； and the favourite too！
The terror that came from his stall；
With the spirit of fire and of dew；
To show the road home to them all；
Page： 16
From the back of the field to the straight
He has come； as is ever his wont；
And carried his welter…like weight；
Like a tradesman； right through to the front。
Nor wonder at cheering a wit；
For this is the popular horse；
That never was beaten when ‘‘fit''
By any four hoofs on the course；
To starter for Leger or Cup；
Has he ever shown feather of fear
When saddle and rider were up
And the case to be argued was clear？
No！ rather the questionless pluck
Of the blood unaccustomed to yield；
Preferred to spread…eagle the ruck；
And make a long tail of the ‘‘field''。
Page： 17
Bear witness； ye lovers of sport；
To races of which he can boast；
When flyer by flyer was caught；
And beaten by lengths on the post！
Lo！ this is the beautiful bay …
Of many； the marvellous one
Who showed us last season the way
That a Leger should always be won。
There was something to look at and learn；
Ye shrewd irreproachable ‘‘touts''；
When the Panic colt tired at the turn；
And the thing was all over … but shouts！
Aye； that was the ‘‘spin''； when the twain
Came locked by the bend of the course；
The Zealander pulling his rein；
And the veteran hard on his horse！
Page： 18
When Ashworth was ‘‘riding'' 'twas late
For his friends to applaud on the stands；
And the Sappho colt entered the straight
With the race of the year in his hands。
Just look at his withers； his thighs！
And the way that he carries his head！
Has Richmond more wonderful eyes；
Or Melbourne that spring in his tread？
The grand； the intelligent glance
From a spirit that fathoms and feels；
Makes the heart of a horse…lover dance
Till the warm…blooded life in him reels。
What care have I ever to know
His owner by sight or by name？
The horse that I glory in so
Is still the magnificent same。
Page： 19
I own I am proud of the pluck
Of the sportsman that never was bought；
But the nag that spread…eagled the ruck
Is bound to be first in my thought。
For who that has masculine flame；
Or who that is thorough at all；
Can help feeling joy in the fame
Of this king of the kings of the stall？
What odds if assumption has sealed
His soulless hereafter abode；
So long as he shows to his ‘‘field''
The gleam of his hoofs； and the road？
Page： 20
BEYOND KERGUELEN
Down in the South； by the waste without sail on it；
Far from the zone of the blossom and tree；
Lieth； with winter and whirlwind and wail on it；
Ghost of a land by the ghost of a sea。
Weird is the mist from the summit to base of it；
Sun of its heaven is wizened and grey；
Phantom of life is the light on the face of it …
Never is night on it； never is day！
Here is the shore without flower or bird on it；
Here is no litany sweet of the springs …
Only the haughty； harsh thunder is heard on it；
Only the storm； with the roar in its wings！
Page： 21
Shadow of moon is the moon in the sky of it …
Wan as the face of a wizard； and far！
Never there shines from the firmament high of it
Grace of the planet or glory of star。
All the year round； in the place of white days on it …
All the year round where there never is night …
Lies a great sinister； bitter； blind haze on it：
Growth that is neither of darkness nor light！
Wild is the cry of the sea in the caves by it …
Sea that is smitten by spears of the snow；
Desolate songs are the songs of the waves by it …
Down in the south； where the ships never go。
Storm from the Pole is the singer that sings to it
Hymns of the land at the planet's grey verge。
Thunder discloses dark； wonderful things to it …
Thunder and rain； and the dolorous surge。
Hills with no hope of a wing or a leaf on them；
Scarred with the chronicles written by flame；
Page： 22
Stare； through the gloom of inscrutable grief on them；
Down on the horns of the gulfs without name。
Cliffs； with the records of fierce flying fires on them …
Loom over perilous pits of eclipse；
Alps； with anathema stamped in the spires on them …
Out by the wave with a curse on its lips。
Never is sign of soft； beautiful green on it …
Never the colour； the glory of rose！
Neither the fountain nor river is seen on it；
Naked its crags are； and barren its snows！