SPLASHING along the boggy woods all day, And over brambled hedge and holding clay, I shall not think of him: But when the watery fields grow brown and dim, And hounds have lost their fox, and horses tire, I know that he'll be with me on my way Home through the darkness to the evening fire. He's jumped each stile along the glistening lanes; His hand will be upon the mud-soaked reins; Hearing the saddle creak, He'll wonder if the frost will come next week. I shall forget him in the morning light; And while we gallop on he will not speak: But at the stable-door he'll say good-night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MASTER'S TOUCH by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ by ALFRED TENNYSON INSULTING BEAUTY by JOHN WILMOT INCIDENT AT BRUGES by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE FOUNTAIN by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II DECLASSE by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |