Spurs clicking hard and loud;
And where he tarried dropped his tear
On heads he left low-bowed.
But, “Even Stephen," he cried, and struck
His steed an urgent blow;
He swore by youth he was a buck
With savage oats to sow.
To even up some standing scores,
From every flower bed
He passed, he plucked by threes and fours
Till wheels whirled in his head.
But long before the drug could tell,
He took his anodyne;
With scornful grace, he bowed farewell
And retraversed the line.
Published in Color, 1925