Right Royal
By John Masefield
24 Feb, 2020
pair of lovers in the mild March weather,
Charles Cothill and the golden lady, Em.
Beautiful England's hands had fashioned them.
He was from Sleins, that manor up the Lithe;
Riding the Downs had made his body blithe;
Stalwart
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pair of lovers in the mild March weather,
Charles Cothill and the golden lady, Em.
Beautiful England's hands had fashioned them.
He was from Sleins, that manor up the Lithe;
Riding the Downs had made his body blithe;
Stalwart he was, and springy, hardened, swift,
Able for perfect speed with perfect thrift,
Man to the core yet moving like a lad.
Dark honest eyes with merry gaze he had,
A fine firm mouth, and wind-tan on his skin.
He was to ride and ready to begin.
He was to ride Right Royal, his own horse,
In the English Chaser's Cup on Compton Course.
Under the pale coat reaching to his spurs
One saw his colours, which were also hers,
Narrow alternate bars of blue and white Less