As a man by a cornfield on a windy wild day Sees the corn bow in shadows ever hurrying away, And wonders, in watching, when the light with bright feet Will harry those shadows from the ears of the wheat, So Charles, as he watched, wondered when the bright face Of the finish would blaze on that smouldering race. On the last of the grass, ere the going was dead, Counter Vair's man shot out with his horse by the head, Like a partridge put up from the stubble he sped, He dropped Kubbadar and he flew by Bed Ember Up to Monkery's girth like a leaf in November. Then Stormalong followed, and went to the front, And just as the find puts a flame to a hunt, So the rush of those horses put flame to the race. Charles saw them all shaken to quickening pace. And Monkery moved, not to let them go by, And the steadiest rider made ready to fly; Well into the wet land they leaped from the dry, They scattered the rain-pools that mirrored the sky, They crashed down the rushes that pushed from the plough. And Charles longed to follow, but muttered "Not now." "Not now," so he thought, "Yet if not" (he said) "when Shall I come to those horses and scupper their men? Will they never come back? Shall I never get up?" So he drank bitter gall from a very cold cup. But he nursed his horse gently and prayed for the best, And he caught Cimmeroon, who was sadly distrest, And he passed Cimmeroon, with the thought that the black Was as nearly dead beat as the man on his back. Then he gained on his field who were galled by the Churn, The plough searched them out as they came to the Turn. But Gavotte, black and coral, went strong as a spate Charles thought "She's a flier and she carries no weight." And now, beyond question the field began tailing, For all had been tested and many were ailing, The riders were weary, the horses were failing, The blur of bright colours rolled over the railing. With the grunts of urged horses, and the oaths of hot men, "Gerr on, you," "Come on, now," agen and agen; They spattered the mud on the willow tree's bole And they charged at the danger; and the danger took toll. For Monkery landed, but dwelt on the fence So that Counter Vair passed him in galloping thence. Then Stormalong blundered, then bright Muscatel Slipped badly on landing and stumbled and fell, Then rose in the morrish, with his man on his neck Like a nearly dead sailor afloat on a wreck, With his whip in the mud and his stirrups both gone, Yet he kept in the saddle and made him go on. As Charles leaped the Turn, all the field was tailed out Like petals of roses that wind blows about, Like petals of colour blown back and brought near, Like poppies in wind-flaws when corn is in ear, Fate held them or sped them, the race was beginning. Charles said, "I must ride, or I've no chance of winning."