William Henry Ogilvie Poems

On a little old bush racecourse at the back of No Man’s Land,
Where the mulgas mark the furlongs and a dead log marks the stand,
...

Hands! Gentle Hands!
When the Field at covert stands,
When your four-rear-old is sweating,
Foamed and fidgety and fretting
...

You that run the reddened ditch among the drifted leaves
May set the pace to conquerors and guide the sons of kings!
...

Gaily in front of the stockwhip
The horses come galloping home,
Leaping and bucking and playing
With sides all a lather of foam;
...

We need no crown or sceptre,
for now that it is spring,
just a little bit of garden-
and every man's a king!
...

There is music on disc and on wireless,
Band-music, dance-tunes for the tireless,
Sweet music from day unto day;
...

When the last fence looms up, I am ready
And I hope when the rails of it crack
There'll be nothing in front but the Master,
...

Once we went gaily with never a care,
And the bigger the fences, the bolder we were;
Once the wild wind was our spur and our lash,
...

If I call, will you hear me, O comrades of mine,
When the sky in the East holds the grey of the dawn,
...

Though I can't afford a hunter -more's the pity,
I love a rousing gallop like the rest!-
Every morning as I travel to the city
...