three We lay low in the grass on the broad plain As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his levels, ire." We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over again, And again drew the girth, cast aside the macheer, Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, Cast aside the catenas red and spangled with gold, And gold-mounted Colt's, true companions for years, Cast the red silk serapes to the wind in a breath And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the horse. Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, Not a kiss from my bride, not a look or low call Of love-note or courage, but on o'er the plain So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein, |