Classic Poem

Out of all the wild horse bands
That crossed the great salt plain,
He alone escaped the death
That the others were glad to gain.

When the cowboys started the drive,
The horses' heads were high.
With streaming manes and waving tails
The stallions seemed to fly.

With a rumble of hoofs on the hard earth,
With arched necks and brightened eyes,
Wild horses were hitting the last trail
Into pastures beyond the skies.

One of the stallions was beautiful,
With silver mane and body of gold.
His head was held as a king's should be,
And his eyes were fierce and bold.

But as the march went on and on
Beneath the blazing sky,
The stallions' heads began to droop
And the mares began to die.

But the Golden Stallion would not quit—
His fight for life was on.
With a screaming neigh he wheeled,
And the golden horse was gone.

The half-breed Injun, Tomahawk Bill,
Raised a rifle to eagle eye;
But the drive boss shouted, “Let 'im go,
Fer in th' desert he will die.”

Out across the sun-baked desert,
With heaving flanks and chest,
The stallion ran in the blazing sun
Without a stop for rest.

When next they saw the Golden Stallion,
He was king of another herd,
Still the king of the sunburnt desert—
As swift as a startled bird.