No spur or whiplash needed now, Is there, darling mouse-and-pink? They're good for prodding some old cow, But not my gray little mare, I think. No bridle for that poor mouth of yours: My love's enough, and my helpful thigh. I'll put no stirrup, no saddle on: Just a touch of my boot, and off you fly On your prettily steel-shod hooves. (Of course, I'm not a fussy equestrian.) Whoops! We're off on the dusty track! My head's lost in your mane somewhere, My arms are a circlet for your neck. Whoops! We took that hedge for fair! Whoops! We're over the hurdle now! Stay under me, my head's awhirl- Whoops! and there's the ditch below . . . We're arsy-varsy! . . . Hold it, girl! |