Horses in horse cloths stand in a row
On board the huge ship that as last lets go:
Whither are they sailing? They do not know,
Nor what for, nor how.
They are horses of war,
And are going to where there is fighting afar;
But they gaze through their eye-holes unwitting they are,
And that in some wilderness, gaunt and ghast,
Their bones will bleach ere a year has passed,
And the item be as "war-waste" classed.
And when the band booms, and the fold say
And the shore slides astern, they appear wrenched awry.
From the scheme Nature planned for them-
THOMAS HARDY (1840-1928)