I saw the racer coming to the jump, Staring with fiery eyeballs as he rusht,I heard the blood within his body thump, I saw him launch, I heard the toppings crusht.And as he landed I beheld his soul Kindle, because, in front, he saw the StraightWith all its thousands roaring at the goal, He laughed, he took the moment for his mate.Would that the passionate moods on which we ride Might kindle thus to oneness with the will;Would we might see the end to which we stride, And feel, not strain, in struggle, only thrill.And laugh like him and know in all our nervesBeauty, the spirit, scattering dust and turves.
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The Racer
written byJohn Masefield
© John Masefield
