RIDE

Lean in the saddle and look aside. Ride! Turn the flame of your face away. It is white as a tree in May. It is bright as a star at sea. It is terribly dear to me. Lean in the saddle and look aside. Ride! Black-maned Balor is proud of you, Racing down in the dawn-red dew; Racing down with the dust behind, (Crackling lash of the sun and wind,) Black-maned Balor will never see Here in the bushes the eyes of me, Staring out like a fox in lair, Hungering out through my clotted hair, Pulling you from the saddle, down, Down through the fern and the bracken brown, Down, to the hollow where I lie, Trembling to feel your face flash by. Ah, but you must not see—not see! You must never look once at me. Days gone by, and I rode with you Over the dust and under the dew: Light and perilous, rash to ride, Laughing, high as a hawk with pride. Now I kneel in the brake and hide. (Ride.) Oh, if I might stand clear and cry, “Look! It is I again! It is I!” Swing you down from the saddle,—No! Turn the flame of your face and go! Watch the white clouds up in the wind; Laugh for the keen miles cast behind. Look not down at the burnt road-side. Dogs that have bitten must slink and hide. —God! that I loved you and hurt you! —See, I will not ask for one look at me. Safe as a star in the sky-ways wide Ride! Galloping hoofs on my heart, my pride. Love of me, Love of me, lean aside! RIDE!