Riding

FILL up, fill up the stirrup-cup!
The wine is running free:
The blue veils of the Spring are out;
She dances on the sea.
In fields of love, in lanes of laughter,
Slacken not the pace:
Care not for Him, who follows after,
And wins at last the race.
Past pear and apple-orchards,
The bramble and the rose,
And out across the swinging turf
To where the sea-wind goes:
To horse! To horse! the time is short;
Soon will the day be done:
We'll gallop on the morning grass,
And drink the rising sun:
And onward through the upland,
To see the plains unfurled,
And armies of the stars go down
Over the brink of the world.