As past them we swept—such nags we had!—
A week ago, on the Gold Cup Day.
The air was rent with a myriad yells,
Our ears were shocked with the crowd and cries,
As they strained for the sound of the saddling bells;
The sun was a-sulk in the clouded skies,
Though he shone out afterward. What else?
What else? I know that the wrong horse won,
Though over the luncheon I fell asleep,
For I woke to find myself all undone;