A darkened hill, and a crimson West,
And silhouetted against the light
A black mustang on a tawny crest
Rears aloft in a sudden fright.

Startled perhaps by a coyote's cry,
Or a scent on the wind; a moment there
He is a marble chiseled on the sky;
He is motion captured on the air.
Sinewed power and strength and grace,
And wild, wild beauty, and the hill
Is only a canvas on whose face
An upreared muscled form stands still.

A moment only, and then a hand
Has swept the canvas clean, to leave
A lonely barrenspace, a hush-
And something lost for which I Grieve.