| Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. |
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| Louise Imogen Guiney. 1861– |
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| 23. The Wild Ride |
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| I HEAR in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses, | |
| All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, | |
| All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing. | |
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| Let cowards and laggards fall back! But alert to the saddle | |
| Weatherworn and abreast, go men of our galloping legion, | 5 |
| With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him. | |
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| The trail is through dolor and dread, over crags and morasses; | |
| There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: | |
| What odds? We are Knights of the Grail, we are vowed to the riding. | |
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| Thought's self is a vanishing wing, and joy is a cobweb, | 10 |
| And friendship a flower in the dust, and glory a sunbeam: | |
| Not here is our prize, nor, alas! after these our pursuing. | |
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| A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle, | |
| A passing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty; | |
| We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers. | 15 |
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| I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses, | |
| All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, | |
| All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing. | |
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| We spur to a land of no name, outracing the storm-wind; | |
| We leap to the infinite dark like sparks from the anvil. | 20 |
| Thou leadest, O God! All's well with Thy troopers that follow. | |
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