Classic Poem

" Boots and saddles" — the well-known call,
A stir in paddock, and box, and stall,
A flutter of something felt by all,
A madness none can name.

" Boots and saddles" — you can see the brisk
Exchange of bills and the silver disk;
For what is a race without a risk,
To lord, or lad, or dame?

" Boots and saddles" — the rustle spreads,
The fever reels to a thousand heads,
The man that hopes and the man that dreads
The chance of the coming game.

" Boots and saddles" — the horses line,
Blood and beauty and speed combine
For the coming contest, wild as wine,
And hot as fiercest flame.

" Boots and saddles" — ah, that's the sound;
The long, clear notes on the air resound;
The blood upleaps and the pulses bound
With a madness none can tame.