Bucephalus Among The Houyhnhnms  

Freedom was calling me, through the fresh morning air,

Singing insistently, "Come away! Come away!"

I, the big warhorse, was strange to the polo field,

Played without riders, much faster and harder.

Centaur-like whinnying startles the fullbacks:

Four across, looking up: "What is that echoing?"

I was the knowing one. Wait for the opening,

Straight for the goal, as relaxed as parade.

Under the sun and a blue of incredible,

Crossing the turf with its chalky-fresh lines.

Hear from the grandstand the rising together,

The neighing approval: "He's making a move."

(Make a move; make a move!

Look at them! Half awake!

Battlefields don't forgive! Hup!)

Disciplined Quickness, conditioned by combat ...

Never surrenders, slips the defenders, 

Stunned by his splendor,

Bolts through an opening, and drives the ball home!