William Henry Ogilvie

(21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)

The Game Of Our Hearts - Poem by William Henry Ogilvie

This is the game of our hearts!
Foot to the stirrup! Away!
Care with the night departs,
Joy comes in with the day.
A good horse tossing his rings,
A light rime decking the thorn:
And the heart of the horseman sings
For love of a hunting morn.
This is the game of our hearts!
Mottled flanks in the fern;
Rate where a rabbit starts,
Cheer to a waving stern;
Call that we rush to obey
From a Whip at his post outside:
Gone away! Gone aw-a-a-ay!
And we sit down to ride.
This is the game of our hearts!
Crash and rattle of rail;
Lean hounds driving like darts
Into the breast of the vale.
Tried Age taking the lead,
Rash Youth coated with clay;
Glory and glamour of speed,
And a right fox away.
This is the game of our hearts,
Whatever luck may ensue-
This, where a Master of Arts
May fail and a dunce get through!
This, where the confident thrust;
This, where the cowardly crane;
This, where there's nothing to trust
But fate and the feel of the rein.
This is the game of our hearts!
Squire and lawyer and lord,
Men of the farms and the marts,
Men of the pen and the sword;
Comrades we jog to the meet,
Rivals we ride the line,
And the sound of the hoofs is sweet
And the taste of the wind is wine.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 7, 2010



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