By Edwin Muir
The spur for this poem was nuclear catastrophe - but at a time when I wonder
about global warming a poem, which moved me as a teenager, does so again:
Edwin Muir (1887-1959) The Horses
(Extract) ......We had sold our horses in our fathers' time
To buy new tractors. Now they were strange to us
As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield
Or illustrations in a book of knights.
We did not dare go near them. Yet they waited,
Stubborn and shy, as if they had been sent
By an old command to find our whereabouts
And that long-lost archaic companionship. ....