He Is Called The Horse

My Troubles Are Over, And I Am Finally Home.

We Call Them Dumb Animals, And So They Are, For They Cannot Tell Us How They Feel, But They Do Not Suffer Less Because They Have No Words.

Though I Am An Old Horse, And Have Seen And Heard A Great Deal, I Never Yet Could Make Out Why Men Are So Fond Of This Sport; They Often Hurt Themselves, Often Spoil Good Horses, And Tear Up The Fields, And All For A Hare, Or A Fox, Or A Stag, That They Could Get More Easily Some Other Way; But We Are Only Horses, And Don't Know.

Give Me The Handling Of A Horse For Twenty Minutes, And I'll Tell You What Sort Of A Groom He Has Had.

My Troubles Are All Over, And I Am At Home; And Often Before I Am Quite Awake, I Fancy I Am Still In The Orchard At Birtwick, Standing With My Friends Under The Apple Trees.