Content because she ever treats me kindly
As friend and comrade true.
How could I be a rogue with her or idle?
Nay, how could horse do aught except rejoice
To feel a hand so gentle on the bridle,
To hear so sweet a voice?
And often when I stand at leisure feeding,
Shut in my box, from all excitement barred,
I catch the sound of welcome footsteps speeding
Across the stable-yard.