The Horses by L. H. Allen

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The hoar-frost smokes up from the plainland bare,
And, shot with veins of sunrise gold, it breaks
In shift and glitter of pure light that flakes
The icy breeze with fire of colours rare.

The furrowed plots, where drove the autumn share,
Lie still and white, like foamy-crested lakes
Caught at a frozen curve. The grey stream quakes,
With rippled glassing of the misty air.

A tree-clump, in a hollow, breathing still
Its last thin vapour, drips a soaking dew,
On steaming horses dulled in patient droop.
But when the shafts the leafy tops o'erspill,
Life trembles restless on each tightening thew,
And they are bronze, an ageless, fire-born group.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 23 October 1926

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on October 23, 2012 7:07 AM.

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