Like a star in the night, like a spring in the waste, The image of Emmy rose up as he raced, Till his mind was made calm, and his spirit was braced. For the prize was bright Emmy; his blood beat and beat As her beauty made music in that thunder of feet. The wind was whirled past him, it hummed in his ears, Right Royal's excitement had banished his fears, For his leap was like singing, his stride was like cheers, All his blood was in glory, all his soul was blown bare, They were one, blood and purpose, they strode through the air. "What is life if I lose her, what is death if I win? At the end of this living the new lives begin. Whatever life may be, whatever death is, I am spirit eternal, I am this, I am this!" Girls waved, and men shouted, like flashes, like shots, Out of pale blurs of faces whose features were dots; Two fences with toppings were cleared without hitch, Then they ran for Lost Lady's, a fence and dry ditch. Here Monkery's rider, on seeing a chance, Shot out beyond Soyland to lead the advance. Then he steadied and summed up his field with a glance. All crossed the Lost Lady's, that dry ditch of fear, Then a roar broke about them, the race-course was near. Right and left were the swing-boats and merry-go-rounds, Yellow varnish that wavered, machines making sounds, Rifles cracking like cork-pops, fifes whining with steam, "All hot," from a pieman; all blurred as in dream. Then the motors, then cheering, then the brass of a band, Then the white rails all crowded with a mob on each hand. Then they swerved to the left over gorsebush and hurdle And they rushed for the Water where a man's blood might curdle. Charles entered the race-course and prayed in his mind That love for the moment might make Emmy blind, Not see him come past half a distance behind; For an instant he thought, "I must shove on ahead, For to pass her like this, Lord, I'd rather be dead." Then, in crossing the hurdle the Stand arose plain, All the flags, horns and cheers beat like blows on his brain, And he thought, "Time to race when I come here again, If I once lose my head, I'll be lost past appeal." All the crowd flickered past like a film on a reel. Like a ribbon, whirled past him, all painted with eyes. All the real, as he rode, was the horse at his thighs, And the thought "They'll come back, if I've luck, if I'm wise." Some banners uncrumpled on the blue of the skies, The cheers became frantic, the blur of men shook, As Thankful and Kubbadar went at the brook. Neck and neck, stride for stride, they increased as they neared it, Though the danger gleamed greyly, they galloped to beard it; And Kubbadar dwelt on his jump as he cleared it, While Thankful went on with a half a length lead. Charles thought, "Kubbadar, there, is going to seed."