| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Your Horses | | By Clifford Franklin Gessler |
| | From “The Villager”
OFTEN, in clear winter afternoons or crisp fall mornings, | |
| Walking long stretches of sand where waves charge in proudly, | |
| Or standing on curving walls, looking out over empty water, | |
| I am aware of the memory of you and your horses— | |
| Prancing bays, proud roans, and wild white horses; | 5 |
| Your laughter syncopating the hoof-beats of horses, | |
| Pounding on clay turf-land or drumming on long white roads. | |
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| Standing at the forks of the river at Orleans Street, | |
| Watching the ice dip up and down in the oily water— | |
| Big gray and white lake birds circling slowly slantwise over the water, | 10 |
| A tug with smoke-stack down for bridges, | |
| And two engines coughing out of time with each other— | |
| I ride again with the memory of you and your horses, | |
| Of you mounting a flight of steps on a glossy black, | |
| Riding down a railroad track to meet me on a deep-chested bay. | 15 |
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| And the sound of your laughter comes to me over the backs of horses, | |
| The memory of your hair streaming with the manes of horses, | |
| Your firm brown hand flung out in the crowding of horses, | |
| Greeting me over the necks of wild white horses, galloping home. | | | | |
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