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
Blue as the speedwell's eye and silver bright.

What with hard work and waiting for the race,
Trouble and strain were marked upon his face;
Men would have said that something worried him.

She was a golden lady, dainty, trim,
As like the love time as laburnum blossom.
Mirth, truth and goodness harboured in her bosom.

Pure colour and pure contour and pure grace
Made the sweet marvel of her singing face;
She was the very may-time that comes in
When hawthorns bud and nightingales begin.
To see her tread the red-tippt daisies white
In the green fields all golden with delight,
Was to believe Queen Venus come again,