Horses in horsecloths stand in a row
On board the huge ship that at last lets go.
Whither are they sailing? They do not know,
Nor what for, nor how. --
                         They are horses of war,
And are going to where there is fighting afar;
But they gaze through their eyeholes unwitting they are,
And that in some wilderness, gaunt and ghast,
Their bones will bleach ere a year has passed,
And the item be as "war-waste" classed. --
And when the band booms, and the folk say "Goodbye!"
And the shore slides astern, they appear wrenched awry
From the scheme Nature planned for them, -- wondering why.