The Racer

I saw the racer coming to the jump,
     Staring with fiery eyeballs as he rusht,
I heard the blood within his body thump,
     I saw him launch, I heard the toppings crusht.
And as he landed I beheld his soul
     Kindle, because, in front, he saw the Straight
With all its thousands roaring at the goal,
     He laughed, he took the moment for his mate.
Would that the passionate moods on which we ride
     Might kindle thus to oneness with the will;
Would we might see the end to which we stride,
     And feel, not strain in struggle, only thrill,
And laugh like him and know in all our nerves
Beauty, the spirit, scattering dust and turves.
More Poems by John Masefield