Classic Poem

On and on—
Foot in the stirrup, up and away!
The night air is sweet with the scent of the May.
Care and the world and anguish of mind,
Once in the saddle I leave them behind,
Dead to all thought but the sense of delight
In the straining of nerve in our swift onward flight.
Talk of the passion of love, if you will,
Of the leaping of heart, of the kisses that thrill,
I tell you love's bliss could never compare
With this rapturous race through the midnight air,
Nor your love's heart-beats make a sound so dear
As the swift hoof-beat to the rider's ear!
The days of the Centaurs have not passed by,
So truly one seem my horse and I.
On and on,—
For life knows no fiercer bliss and delight
Than this rush through the wind of a summer's night.