The lift of his action is rhythmic and right,
His depth through the heart is a horseman's delight,
His tail flows to earth like the Falls of the Clyde,
The arch of his crest is the badge of his pride;
There is fiame in his nostril and fire in his eye;
He is all that we look for, and boast of, and buy;
All the marks of a good one are there to revere.
But the Star on his Forehead to me is most dear.
His make and his movement, his courage and fire
I accept and I value, I love and admire;
The power of those quarters, those cannons of steel,
Those cool chiselled tendons clean run to the heel;
All beauty! All magic! Yet one thing apart
From the pride of that picture stays close to my heart;
Not his strength, not his speed, not his line from Eclipse,
But the Star on his Forehead she touched with her lips.
