With the courage of the way that you were bred;
I have seen you standing, broken, in the rain,
Lone and fretting for a yesterday's caress;
I have seen your valour spur you up again
From the sorrow that your patient eyes express.
Now in dreams I see your squadron at the Front,
You a war-horse with a hero on your back,
Taking bugles for the horn-blast of the hunt,
Taking musketry for music of the pack;
Made and mannered to the pattern of the rest,