On a steep road, let your horse set the pace.
Related quotes
Duke of Norfolk: Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him.
line from Henry VIII, script by William Shakespeare (1613)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Glory of Man and Horse
Oh, the glory of the charge!
Man and horse to battle
Never an army too large
To stand in their way
Oh, the glory of the plains!
Man and horse to conquer
Battling wind and rains
To tame the far, far west
Oh, the glory of the sand!
Man and horse to test
Over the hot, dry land
To try their strength
Oh, the glory of the race!
Man and horse to run
Galloping a fearsome pace
To win that golden cup
poem by Horse Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Glory of Man and Horse
Oh, the glory of the charge!
Man and horse to battle
Never an army too large
To stand in their way
Oh, the glory of the plains!
Man and horse to conquer
Battling wind and rains
To tame the far, far west
Oh, the glory of the sand!
Man and horse to test
Over the hot, dry land
To try their strength
Oh, the glory of the race!
Man and horse to run
Galloping a fearsome pace
To win that golden cup
What is a Horse?
What is a horse?
A horse has eyes as dainty as a mink.
The grace is interrupted merely by a blink.
A horse is beauty.
What is a horse?
A horse is a tree in a storm that never goes down.
A horse is a weathered rock that stays around.
A horse is ancient.
What is a horse?
A horse waltzes like breeze over rivers.
She curvets and leaps like rain shivers.
A horse is a marionette.
What is a horse?
A horse is determination, that never stops flowing.
A horse is fondness, that never stops growing.
A horse is poetic power.
poem by Lily Whittaker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fork in the Road
A fork in the road
A choice to be made
A prayer on the lips
Which way to go?
A cowboy on his horse
A blue sky overhead
A decision to make
To trust God or not?
A man riding the plains
A horse underneath
Pondering this question
“Is it enough for me? ”
A rider on his knees
A horse stands behind
A soul is now saved
Let all heaven rejoice!
poem by Horse Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rocking Horse Road
The chains from the bridle and the reins fell from my hands
The engines are idle and the ship sails on dry land
I stood there stupefied, I thought I recognized
Walking down rocking horse road, getting lost
Shot through vaseline, he picks up the paper from the lawn
And tucks the suburban assassin underneath his arm
He smiles weakly and turns away
I know youll never come to harm
Walking down rocking horse road, its so peaceful
Its like a photograph
From the other side of the world
I said I want you only
And then I left you alone
Crying on rocking horse road, or somewhere quite like it
The cemetery gardens, there are names not numbers on the gateposts
And the eyes in the curtain follow you like a smirking ghost
I know I must not look back
cause part of me is waiting still
There on rocking horse road for you
In a little dream house made for two
Well you were the one that made your escape
In your stocking feet and your sticky tape
All the way down [repeat to fade]
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind Horse
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, gentle Wind horse, you were the last of your kind.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you were running wild and free.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, with this freedom you did nothing but give;
When one called for help you carried them to safety,
No enemy did you have.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave your life one day
To a boy with no leg.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave him your endless love.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you now run in the Great Hunting Grounds;
Giving joy to those there, as you did here.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, your life was not the last gift
You gave the People.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you prayed for us, you wished a wish for us.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we remember you through your brother Horse.
Wi: yo: h … It is good.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we see you still.
poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Horse Is A Horse
A horse is a horse and a man is a man
And neither can be the other
And each can survive but is much better
In the company of one another.
And while a horse is a horse and that is true
A horse is but a beast
As a cow is a cow, some ask how
On its flesh we should not feast?
For they do so in France as in other places
And I don't know how they can
For while a horse is a horse and is only a horse
It is less a cow than it is a man!
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Huntsman's Horse
The galloping seasons have slackened his pace,
And stone wall and timber have battered his knees
It is many a year since he gave up his place
To live out his life in comparative ease.
No more does he stand with his scarlet and white
Like a statue of marble girth deep in the gorse;
No more does he carry the Horn of Delight
That called us to follow the huntsman's old horse.
How many will pass him and not understand,
As he trots down the road going cramped in his stride,
That he once set the pace to the best in the land
Ere they tightened his curb for a lady to ride!
When the music begins and a right one's away,
When hoof-strokes are thudding like drums on the ground,
The old spirit wakes in the worn-looking grey
And the pride of his youth comes to life at a bound.
He leans on the bit and he lays to his speed,
To the winds of the open his stiffness he throws,
And if spirit were all he'd be up with the lead
Where the horse that supplants him so easily goes.
No double can daunt him, no ditch can deceive,
No bank can beguile him to set a foot wrong,
But the years that have passed him no power can retrieve-
To the swift is their swiftness, their strength to the strong!
To the best of us all comes a day and a day
When the pace of the leaders shall leave us forlorn,
So we'll give him a cheer - the old galloping grey -
As he labours along to the lure of the Horn.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Night Hunt
In the morning, in the dark,
When the stars begin to blunt,
By the wall of Barna Park
Dogs I heard and saw them hunt
All the parish dogs were there,
All the dogs for miles around,
Teeming up behind a hare,
In the dark, without a sound.
How I heard I scarce can tell--
'Twas a patter in the grass--
And I did not see them well
Come across the dark and pass;
Yet I saw them and I knew
Spearman's dog and Spellman's dog
And, beside my own dog too,
Leamy's from the Island Bog.
In the morning when the sun
Burnished all the green to gorse,
I went out to take a run
Round the bog upon my horse;
And my dog that had been sleeping
In the heat beside the door
Left his yawning and went leaping
On a hundred yards before.
Through the village street we passed--
Not a dog there raised a snout--
Through the street and out at last
On the white bog road and out
Over Barna Park full pace,
Over to the Silver Stream,
Horse and dog in happy race,
Rider between thought and dream.
By the stream, at Leamy's house,
Lay a dog -- my pace I curbed --
But our coming did not rouse
Him from drowsing undisturbed;
And my dog, as unaware
Of the other, dropped beside
And went running by me there
With my horse's slackened stride.
Yet by something, by a twitch
Of the sleeper's eye, a look
From the runner, something which
Little chords of feeling shook,
I was conscious that a thought
Shuddered through the silent deep
Of a secret -- I had caught
Something I had known in sleep.
poem by Thomas MacDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nosebag
A bag of fodder for a horse hung from the horse's head,
Allow it to eat at will.
Something like this is better if a man get nowadays?
Like the horse he too runs in the life-marathon for his daily bread.
In this ridiculous Drama,
Rich goes to the sky without rockets,
And the poor become poorest.
The bourgeoisie crawls on the expandable 'Globalization'.
And he dies on the road of starvation like a stray dog.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cavallina Storna
The grey horse follows its familiar road home,
it pulls a wagon with a man at the reigns.
Its hooves kick up dust. This is Sicily.
It's Summer and it hasn't rained in months.
The man at the reigns is dead.
The horse waits patiently for her master's whip.
She won't speed up without it.
At the barbershop in town
hair floated cutting through beams of light
and irritating his breath.
He thought he was to die right there,
but they waited till he was on the road.
The horse's eyes are covered to keep her calm.
She can only see ahead where she can make out
the house, and the children waiving
from the branches of the orange tree.
poem by Matthew Christopher
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cup Couplets
Out of great wisdom, long stored up,
I would write me a rune of the Melbourne Cup.
Out of experience, grave and gay,
I would raise me a rhyme to the gala day.
With words of wisdom then let us begin;
For a many shall wager, but few shall win.
And first a warning: Go slow this trip,
For there's many a slip 'twixt the Cup and the tip.
And the sport of Kings, tho' it capture the town,
Is never for one with but half-a-crown.
For this oft is the tale of a Cup Day revel;
Dine with the gods and sup with the devil.
And this oft is the rule when the lucky man sups:
He is in on the Cup and he's on in his cups.
When the living is slow and the horse also
It doesn't much matter what pace you go.
When the living is slow and the horse is fast,
You may keep to a pace that is like to last.
When the living is fast and the horse is 'dead,'
There's the dickens to pay, and an aching head.
But, fast or slow, if you play the game
To the end, then the end is much the same.
So this is the motto to hold and to hug:
There is but one Cup; but there's many a mug.
And these be the sayings of Smug, the saint,
You may guess he's a grouch, but I wot he ain't.
So, out or in, if you still can grin,
Here's a glorious day to you, lose or win!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Am I Walking The Wrong Road This Morning?
Am I walking the wrong road this morning?
The easier the pleasanter road.
Shouldn’ I be riding the bus
To do my small business downtown?
The sun and the sky
And the world outdoors
And the light the light
All tell me,
“Walk on at your own pace, Old Man,
At your age
The pleasant road is the best one.”
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me & My Horse
riding together,
you and your horse.
as you run against the wind all you call hear is-
the wind wipping your ears,
the horse's hooves thundering beneath you,
the chains of your bit as the horse pulls against the reins,
and the faint sound of the horse behind you.
your horse stops,
the horse behind you catches up.
the race is over,
freedom will have to wait until next time.
poem by Horse Lover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Horse For Dinner
A horse A horse
My kingdom for a horse,
A horse A horse
For the main course
Muscles of might
Pulled so tight,
A body of organs
All for a meal
Why a horse?
Why not a deer?
A horse does the work,
A deer will just peer
A horse is strong
a deer has no uses,
so there for a deer
suffers the abuses
Condemned is a deer
as from the day it's born,
until the day it dies
and its meaty flesh torn
So why a horse
if a deer has no uses?
because I am a man
Who too, has suffered too many abuses
poem by John McAdam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dream Fulfilled (My First Trail Ride)
Upon the saddle I am mounted
My foot in the stirrup is set
Precious time is happily counted
a kinder horse have I never met
Upon the rocky trail I ride
I enjoy fresh air and tree-given shade
Within this horse my trust I confide
and I new friend I have surely made
Though the hills are steep and the trail is rough
This horse has been well-trained
Through the rugged trail, he proves hardy and tough
He knows the way and needs not to be reined
I hear the water of a running creek
I spot a lone deer in the distance
At the sight of this animal, I am unable to speak
While upon a horse she ignores my existence
Closer to nature I start to feel
Trees on either side I can see
Almost like a dream, yet so real
There has never been a happier me
But the trail has ended, I start to cry
I will have a horse of my own! ...But when?
For now, I depart and heave a big sigh
And look forward to the rocky trail again
poem by Glaedr the poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Dirt Cowgirl
Nature grows the weeds and grasses
The wind whips the horse's mane.
They travel, horse and a pretty cowgirl
Through a land that starts with Maine
There is no trail that they follow
No red dirt roads to be seen
Here they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless fields of green
Is this real, or is this make believe
The horse glides on through the night
Searching ever searching for red dirt
With a neon moon providing the only light
Is this real, or is this make believe
Will a red dirt road become a reality
We look toward the western sky
And feel the sweat as the wind rushes by
There on a distance horizon... Wow!
Is that fabulous red dirt road ever so proud
Just across a few more fields and streams
Is that ultimate answer to our many dreams
poem by John McCornack
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Roads
FAR road for words that rush,
Arrowing space,
Swifter than meteors flush
Star-road in race.
Wireless! Tireless, leaping the wave!
Roger Bacon laughs in his grave.
One road, o'er-steep to climb
Since world began,
Winged in our wonder-time,
Sun-road for man.
Air-ship! Fair ship, soaring the blue!
Galileo had burned for you.
Dread road for Freedom's sons,
Sworn to release
Life from the threat of guns,
Red road to peace.
New knights! true knights! gleam of God's blade!
Lincoln leads in the Last Crusade.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Were I A Horse
A balding man my hair is gray decades ago it was brown
Were I a horse I'm sure by now that I would have been put down
I feel so very stiff and old father time is catching up on me
And I for one don't fear life's end what is to be will be.
I was not any good at sports I cannot dance and sing
I'm just your average ordinary bloke not much good at anything
They say only the good die young and I still linger on
And better people by far than I deceased, forgotten and gone.
Were I a horse I'd have been put down that may seem crude to say
But that's what happens to most horses when they have had their day
Most horses save for the lucky few not allowed to grow old and die
I feel grateful to be still around more living I'll enjoy.
Were I a horse I'd have been put down for dog or cat food maybe
The knacker takes the worn out horse the Reaper will claim me
The years on me begin to tell my fastest pace is slow
And I was in the prime of life some thirty years ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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