The Old Horse In Autumn Poem by Ruth Manning-Sanders

Now for you again—
Scanty blades and shrivelled clover.
Dead leaves strewing a sad field over,
Where you tread pools of rain,
Trampled mud before your gate,
A kingdom withering and desolate.

Now we shudder in dread
Of the creeping mists, the settling night.
The hush that wakes in a clap of fright
When the wind groans overhead,
Rocking branches high and stark
That hold the stars in a net of dark.

But you with serene power.
Having found long ago
The way of life we may not know.
Take the utmost of the hour,—
Dream a dream of emerald ease
Whilst still the sun glints through the trees.

And when through hedge stripped bare
Thinly screams the freezing wind.
And the hail storms race behind.
Shrill as devils in the air.
You will turn your back and wait
Calmly the next move of fate.

If each melting bead
From the tangle of your mane
Slip, and sunbeams light again
On your back, you will not heed
Any thought of coming wrong,—
Bitter night or winter long.