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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350502" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Twixt the Wings of the Yard</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,<br> Thousands of voices all blent into one:<br>See “hell for leather” now trooping together, now<br> Down the long slope of the range at a run,<br>Dust in the wake of ‘em: see the wild break of ‘em,<br> Spear-horned and curly, red, spotted and starred:<br>See the lads bringing ‘em, blocking ‘em, ringing ‘em.<br> Fetching ‘em up to the wings of the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mark that red leader now: what a fine bleeder now,<br> Twelve hundred at least if he weighs half a pound,<br>None go ahead of him. Mark the proud tread of him,<br> See how he bellows and paws at the ground.<br>Watch the mad rush of ‘em, raging and crush of ‘em.<br> See when they struck how the corner post jarred.<br>What a mad chasing and wheeling and racing and<br> Turbulent talk ‘twixt the wings of the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Harry and Teddy, there! let them go steady there!<br> Some of you youngsters will surely get pinned.<br>What am I saying? I’ve had my last day in<br> The saddle: I might as well talk to the wind.<br>Why should I grieve at all? soon I must leave it all -<br> Leave it for ever; and yet it seems hard<br>That I should be lingering here ‘stead of fingering <br> Handle of whip ‘twixt the wings of the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hear the loud crack of the whips on the back of the<br> Obstinate weaners who will not go in -<br>Sharp fusilade of it till, half afraid of it, <br> Echo herself shuts her ears at the din.<br>They’ll say when it’s over now that I’m in clover now -<br> Happy old pensioner, yet it seems hard, <br>E’en on the brink of the grave, when I think of the<br> Times out of mind that I rode to that yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark to the row at the rails, there’s a cow at the<br> Charge: how she laughs all their lashes to scorn.<br>Mark how she ran ag’in little Tom Flannagan.<br> Lucky for him that it wasn’t her horn:<br>He’d make no joke of it had he a poke of it.<br> There she comes back! but he’s put on his guard,<br>Greenhide descending now, sharp reports blending now,<br> Flogging her back up the wings of the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The breeze brings their bellowing, soft’ning it, mellowing,<br> Till it sounds like a spent giant in pain -<br>Steals up the valley on, sounding a rally on<br> Sonorous hills that return it again.<br>Useless my whining now, useless repining now,<br> ‘Twon’t make me any less battered and scarred;<br>Though I’ve grown grey at it - oh, for a day at it,<br> Oh, for an hour ‘twixt the wings of the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, how I yearn for those times, how I burn for those<br> Days when my weapons, the whip and the spur,<br>The double reigned bridle, were not hanging idle,<br> But I’m old, and as useless as Stupmy - that cur;<br>No good for heeling now, he has a feeling now<br> Not unlike mine - that it’s woefully hard<br>We should be lying here, groaning and sighing here<br> Watching the cattle come up to the yard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Life has no salt in it. See how I halt in it -<br> I, who once rode with the first of the flight -<br>Watching and waiting now, feebly debating now<br> Whether the close will bring darkness or light;<br>Half my time pondering, back through life wandering,<br> Groaning to see how life has been marred -<br>Seeing the blots in it, all the bad spots in it,<br> Mustering, bringing past sins to the yard.<br> <br>Shall I be able to show a clean waybill to<br> God, when he rounds up and drafts off his own -<br>When, at the mustering, millions of clustering<br> Souls come to judgement before the white throne?<br>Is the Lord’s hand on me? Have I his brand on me?<br> When I go up will the passage be barred?<br>Am I a chosen one? must the gates close on me?<br> Shall I be left ‘twixt the wings of the yard?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barcroft+Henry+Thomas+Boake">Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350502" data-title="Twixt the Wings of the Yard de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,
 Thousands of voices all blent into one:
See “hell for leather” now trooping together, now
 Down the long slope of the range at a run,
Dust in the wake of ‘em: see the wild break of ‘em,
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