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Richard Wilbur - The Ride

The horse beneath me seemed 
To know what course to steer 
Through the horror of snow I dreamed,
And so I had no fear,

Nor was I chilled to death 
By the wind’s white shudders, thanks 
To the veils of his patient breath 
And the mist of sweat from his flanks.

It seemed that all night through,
Within my hand no rein
And nothing in my view
But the pillar of his mane,

I rode with magic ease
At a quick, unstumbling trot
Through shattering vacancies
On into what was not,

Till the weave of the storm grew thin,
With a threading of cedar-smoke,
And the ice-blind pane of an inn
Shimmered, and I awoke.

How shall I now get back 
To the inn-yard where he stands,
Burdened with every lack,
And waken the stable-hands

To give him, before I think 
That there was no horse at all,
Some hay, some water to drink,
A blanket and a stall? 

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Added: Apr 28 2005 | Viewed: 4348 times | Comments and analysis of The Ride by Richard Wilbur Comments (1)

The Ride - Comments and Information

Poet: Richard Wilbur
Poem: The Ride
Poem of the Day: Oct 25 2012

Comment 1 of 1, added on October 25th, 2012 at 10:04 AM.

Tomorrow every house is a slaughter house:

The dream of Abraham is lingering;
Not in Ishmael’s neck and the stone,
I hear it in the sheep shaking bone,
Into the eyes the black wind is blown,
In vans and ships and trains cramming of the fleece,
Inside the beat of hearts and the breath of peace,
And the jovial kids are priding on the horn,
As in little souls is the germinating thorn,
And the father rushing to the blacksmith,
Sharpen knives and hatches, they assist the teeth.
In the feast of blood and no whisper of remorse!
For tomorrow every house is a slaughter house!
Altair Laahad (All Rights Reserved)

Altair Laahad

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