Up came the young Centaur-colts from the plains they
were fathered in

Curious awkward, afraid.

Burrs on their hocks and their tails, they were branded and gathered in 

Mobs and run up to the yard to be made.


Starting and shying at straws, with sidelings and plungings,

Buckings and whirlings and bolts;

Greener than grass, but full-ripe for their bridlings and lungings,

Up to the yards and to Chiron they bustled the colts… 

 
First the light web and the cavesson; then the linked keys 

To jingle and turn on the tongue. Then, with cocked ears, 

The hours of watching and envy, while comrades at ease

Passaged and backed, making naught of these terrible gears. 


Next, over-pride and its price at the low-seeming fence,

Too oft and too easily taken - the world-beheld fall !

And none in the yard except Chiron to doubt the immense,

Irretrievable shame of it all ! .. . .

Last, the trained squadron, full-charge - the sound of a
	going 

Through dust and spun clods, and strong kicks, pelted in as they went,

And repaid at top-speed; till the order to halt without slowing

Brought every colt on his haunches - and Chiron content !