Inside: Hand-Picked, Inspirational Horse Poems.
If you’ve ever looked into a horse’s eyes, you immediately know why people have loved horses for centuries. Not only are they useful for travel and farming, but it’s easy to feel connected to them. They radiate intelligence and a touch of wild.
When you are riding a horse, you feel free and powerful. You feel like you can take on the world.
No wonder knights in medieval times wanted the biggest, most beautiful stallion to carry them into battle.
We have hand-picked these Inspirational Horse Poems to share beautiful poems with fellow horse fans.
Magnificent Horse Poems
1.A Blessing by James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
2. The Stallion by Walt Whitman
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses,
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion,
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
3. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening Poem by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
4. When the Riding is Done by J.P Gorham
You know I’ll always ride here
even when my riding’s done
In the whisper of the pre-dawn
or the final burst of sun
At the corners of transition
where the changes are obscured
I will ride and if you see me
it’s because our love has endured.
You know I’ll never leave you
even when I’m far away
In the moments when the words stop
and your breath gets in the way
I will softly say I love you
barely louder than the breeze
So, I hope you gently listen
to my voice between the trees.
You know I’ll try to hold you
even when my arms can’t grasp
Just to bring you comfort
when your throat lets out a gasp
The feelings that we share here
will transcend just what we see
And my horse will still be waiting
right beneath our favourite tree.
You know you are forever
but it’s easy when we’re here
Just a hand away from holding
and a hug away from fear
So, you have to make a promise
that your hope will never run
And you know I’ll always ride here
even when my riding’s done.
5. Horse and Rider by Kim Schilling
Galloping towards the base of the steep hill,
watching the breeze bluster through her mane,
with a mild touch I veered her with reign;
For a serene moment all time stood still.
Horse and mount journeying with great skill,
but collectively as one we must attain;
Galloping towards the base of the steep hill,
watching the breeze bluster through her mane.
Feeling the power beneath me is a thrill,
and racing across the meadowy plane,
a feeling rushes over I can’t explain,
perhaps the reality of taking a spill;
Galloping towards the base of the steep hill.
Funny unicorn quotes
6. A Horse Is A Horse Poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
A horse is a horse and a man is a man
And neither can be the other
And each can survive but is much better
In the company of one another.
And while a horse is a horse and that is true
A horse is but a beast
As a cow is a cow, some ask how
On its flesh we should not feast?
For they do so in France as in other places
And I don’t know how they can
For while a horse is a horse and is only a horse
It is less a cow than it is a man!
7. The Wild Ride by Louise Imogen Guiney
I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses
All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses,
All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.
Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle
Weather-worn and abreast, go men of our galloping legion,
With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him.
The trail is through dolour and dread, over crags and morasses;
There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us:
What odds? We are Knights of the Grail, we are vowed to the riding.
Thought’s self is a vanishing wing, and joy is a cobweb,
And friendship a flower in the dust, and glory a sunbeam:
Not here is our prize, nor, alas! after these our pursuing.
A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle,
A passing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty:
We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers.
(I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses
All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses,
All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.)
We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind;
We leap to the infinite dark like sparks from the anvil.
Thou leadest, O God! All’s well with Thy troopers that follow.
8. The Horse by Ronald Duncan
Where in this wide world can
man find nobility without pride,
friendship without envy or beauty
without vanity? Here, where
grace is laced with muscle, and
strength by gentleness confined.
He serves without servility; he has
fought without enmity. There is
nothing so powerful, nothing less
violent, there is nothing so quick,
nothing more patient.
England’s past has been borne on
his back. All our history is his
industry; we are his heirs; he
9. The White Horse by D.H. Lawrence
The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on
and the horse looks at him in silence.
They are so silent, they are in another world.
9 of the Best Poems About Horses
10. Horse by Elizabeth Madox Roberts
His bridle hung around the post.
The sun and the leaves made spots come down;
I looked close at him through the fence;
The post was drab and he was brown.
His nose was long and hard and still,
And on his lip were specks like chalk.
But once he opened up his eyes,
And he began to talk.
He didn’t talk out with his mouth;
He didn’t talk with words or noise.
The talk was there along his nose;
It seemed and then it was.
He said the day was hot and slow,
And he said he didn’t like the flies;
They made him have to shake his skin,
And they got drowned in his eyes.
He said that drab was just about
The same as brown, but he was not
A post, he said, to hold a fence.
“I’m horse,” he said, “that’s what!”
And then he shut his eyes again.
As still as they had been before.
He said for me to run along
And not to bother him any more.
11. Rain And Wind by Madison Julius Cawein
I hear the hoofs of horses
Galloping over the hill,
Galloping on and galloping on,
When all the night is shrill
With wind and rain that beats the pane,
And my soul with awe is still.
For every dripping window
Their headlong rush makes bound,
Galloping up, and galloping by,
Then back again and around,
Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs,
And the draughty cellars sound.
And then I hear black horsemen
Hallooing in the night;
Hallooing and hallooing,
They ride o’er vale and height,
And the branches snap and the shutters clap
With the fury of their flight.
Then at each door a horseman,
With burly bearded lip
Hallooing through the keyhole,
Pauses with cloak a-drip;
And the door-knob shakes and the panel quakes
‘Neath the anger of his whip.
All night I hear their gallop,
And their wild halloo’s alarm;
The tree-tops sound and vanes go round
In forest and on farm;
But never a hair of a thing is there,
Only the wind and storm.
12. Barberry by Hilda Conkling
I’m going to have a horse Named Barberry,
His coat the color of barberry leaves
Russet red he will be
With flylng mane,
Strong and wiry,
His head slender and haughty!
Touch him . . . feel the life and joy within him
Run through you like fire!
He will be free as wind:
He will take me through forests away from people,
Past lakes, across rivers, into the mountains:
He will go galloping across corn fields by twilight
He will find me a coral beach.
His eyes will snap with joy of always being free.
People may give me their best horses . . .
Barberry for me, against them all!
13. He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace by William Butler Yeats
I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering
The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping
The East her hidden joy before the morning break,
The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,
The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
Drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous
14. Wild Horse of the Prairies by Isaac McLellan
For other scenes their lights expand,
Out in the savage western land,
Where wildernesses lone and grand,
Their awful glooms extend;
Far where the Rocky Mounts upthrow
Their pinnacles of rock and snow,
White cones, whereon the sunset’s glow,
Its roseate hues doth blend.
Around them, woods primeval press,
Around them, pastures measureless,
Waved by the idle wind’s caress,
Reach th’ horizon’s edge.
In dark ravine and gulch the bear
And tiger-cat have made their lair,
The bison range the meadows there,
To browse the bending sedge.
O’er open plain, in leafy dell,
In hollow vale, on upland swell,
The wild steeds of the prairies dwell,
Free as the mountain wind;
No iron bit or curb have they,
No galling spur, no trappings gay,
No rider to control their way,
Their untam’d limbs to bind.
Free as the eagle cleaves through space,
They curvet or they join in race,
Fleeter than wild beasts of the chase,
A vast unnumbered throng;
They crop the dewy grass at will,
In ice cold waters drink their fill,
Scour the wild plain or sweep the hill,
Unscarr’d by whip or thong.
Yet comes at times a yelling crew,
The savage with his wild halloo,
The painted Blackfoot or Sioux,
All greedy for the spoil;
It were a thrilling sight to see
Those lawless riders fierce and free,
Each swinging with a madden’d glee,
The lariat’s twisting coil.
On, on the frantic horsemen sweep,
On, on the snorting wild steeds leap,
Down flowery slope, o’er wooded steep,
Pursuers and pursued;
Then far th’ unerring noose is thrown,
The stately bay or lusty roan
Fall captive, panting, with a groan,
All vanquish’d and subdued.
15. A Woman Driving by Thomas Hardy
How she held up the horses’ heads,
Firm-lipped, with steady rein,
Down that grim steep the coastguard treads,
Till all was safe again!
With form erect and keen contour
She passed against the sea,
And, dipping into the chine’s obscure,
Was seen no more by me.
To others she appeared anew
At times of dusky light,
But always, so they told, withdrew
From close and curious sight.
Some said her silent wheels would roll
Rutless on softest loam,
And even that her steeds’ footfall
Sank not upon the foam.
Where drives she now? It may be where
No mortal horses are,
But in a chariot of the air
Towards some radiant star.
16. Who Would Hurt a Horse or Tree by Annette Wynne
Who would hurt a horse or tree
Does not deserve good company.
Who would hurt a bird that sings
Is meanest of all earthly things.
17. Horses by Jennifer Gray
The neighbor’s horses idle
under the roof
of their three-sided shelter,
looking out at the rain.
one or another
will fade into the shadows
in the corner, maybe
to eat, or drink.
Still, the others stand,
blowing out their warm
breaths. Rain rattles
on the metal roof.
Their hoof prints
in the corral
open gray eyes to the sky,
and wink each time
another drop falls in.
18. The Horse and the Mule by John Huddlestone Wynne
The pampered steed, of swiftness proud,
Pranced o’er the plains, and neighed aloud.
A Mule he met, of sober pace,
And straight defied her to a race.
Long she declined to try the course;
How could she match in speed the horse?
At length, while pawing side by side,
A precipice the Mule espied,
And in her turn the Horse defied.
Near to its foot there stood a tree,
Which both agreed the goal should be.
Hasty rushed on the bounding steed,
And slowly sees the Mule proceed:
He sees, he scorns; but as they bend
From the rough mountain to descend,
He finds his boasted swiftness vain,
For footing here he can’t maintain.
The steady Mule the toil abides,
And skillful down the hill she slides,
Reaching the goal, well pleased to find
The vaunting Horse creep slow behind;
Who, tumbling from the mountain’s brow,
Came battered to the vale below;
Too late convinced, by what had passed,
That ” slow and sure goes far at last”.
Happy Horse Poems
19. Horses on the Grass by Grace Schulman
From the tower window
draws a silver maple’s shadow
across a spangled lawn;
rear, manes lashing the air,
front legs floating.
half shadow, the tree
aspires to the sky;
one branch, cracked by lightning,
scrapes the earth.
on the grass, bent twigs
are curved hooves, galloping
as the moon rises.
Divided it stands
in wholeness, mourning
its victories, praising
the god of trees, the king of horses.
The tree holds souls
in a bark prison
poised like a runner at the starting line—
and bolts free, wildly
pawing the ground those roots lie under.
20. At Grass by Philip Larkin
The eye can hardly pick them out
From the cold shade they shelter in,
Till wind distresses tail and mane;
Then one crops grass, and moves about
– The other seeming to look on –
And stands anonymous again
Yet fifteen years ago, perhaps
Two dozen distances sufficed
To fable them : faint afternoons
Of Cups and Stakes and Handicaps,
Whereby their names were artificed
To inlay faded, classic Junes –
Silks at the start : against the sky
Numbers and parasols : outside,
Squadrons of empty cars, and heat,
And littered grass : then the long cry
Hanging unhushed till it subside
To stop-press columns on the street.
Do memories plague their ears like flies?
They shake their heads. Dusk brims the shadows.
Summer by summer all stole away,
The starting-gates, the crowd and cries –
All but the unmolesting meadows.
Almanacked, their names live; they
Have slipped their names, and stand at ease,
Or gallop for what must be joy,
And not a fieldglass sees them home,
Or curious stop-watch prophesies :
Only the grooms, and the grooms boy,
With bridles in the evening come.
21. Suppose by Walter De La Mare
Suppose … and suppose that a wild little Horse of Magic
Came cantering out of the sky,
With bridle of silver, and into the saddle I mounted,
To fly — and to fly;
And we stretched up into the air, fleeting on in the sunshine,
A speck in the gleam,
On galloping hoofs, his mane in the wind out-flowing,
In a shadowy stream;
And oh, when, all lone, the gentle star of evening
Came crinkling into the blue,
A magical castle we saw in the air, like a cloud of moonlight,
As onward we flew;
And across the green moat on the drawbridge we foamed and we snorted,
And there was a beautiful Queen
Who smiled at me strangely; and spoke to my wild little Horse, too —
A lovely and beautiful Queen;
And she cried with delight — and delight — to her delicate maidens,
‘Behold my daughter — my dear!’
And they crowned me with flowers, and then to their harps sate playing,
Solemn and clear;
And magical cakes and goblets were spread on the table;
And at window the birds came in;
Hopping along with bright eyes, pecking crumbs from the platters,
And sipped of the wine;
And splashing up — up to the roof tossed fountains of crystal;
And Princes in scarlet and green
Shot with their bows and arrows, and kneeled with their dishes
Of fruits for the Queen;
And we walked in a magical garden with rivers and bowers,
And my bed was of ivory and gold;
And the Queen breathed soft in my ear a song of enchantment —
And I never grew old….
And I never, never came back to the earth, oh, never and never;
How mother would cry and cry!
There’d be snow on the fields then, and all these sweet flowers in the winter
Would wither, and die….
Suppose … and suppose .
22. A Horse Named Never by Jennifer Chang
At the stables, each stall was labeled with a name.
Biscuit stood aloof — I faced, always, invariably, his clockwork tail.
Crab knew the salt lick too well.
Trapezoid mastered stillness: a midnight mare, she was sternest and tallest, her chest stretched against the edges of her stall.
I was not afraid of Never, the chestnut gelding, so rode his iron haunches as far as Panther Gap.
Never and I lived in Virginia then.
We could neither flee nor be kept.
Seldom did I reach the little mountain without him, the easy crests making valleys of indifferent grasses.
What was that low sound I heard, alone with Never?
A lone horse, a lodestar, a habit of fear.
We think of a horse less as the history of one man and his sorrows than as the history of a whole evil time.
Why I chose Never I’ll never know.
I fed him odd lettuce, abundant bitterness.
Who wore the bit and harness, who was the ready steed.
Never took the carrot, words by my own reckoning, an account of creeks and oystercatchers.
Our hoof-house rested at the foot of the mountain, on which rested another house more brazen than statuary.
Let it be known: I first mistook gelding for gilding.
I am the fool that has faith in Never.
Somewhere, a gold door burdened with apology refuses all mint from the yard.
23. The Horseman by Walter De La Mare
I heard a horseman
Ride over the hill;
The moon shone clear,
The night was still;
His helm was silver,
And pale was he;
And the horse he rode
Was of ivory.
24. A Winter Ride by Amy Lowell
Who shall declare the joy of the running!
Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight!
Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather,
Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of light.
Everything mortal has moments immortal,
Swift and God-gifted, immeasurably bright.
So with the stretch of the white road before me,
Shining snowcrystals rainbowed by the sun,
Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows,
Strong with the strength of my horse as we run.
Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight!
Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
25. Why Some Girls Love Horses by Paisley Rekdal
And then I thought, Can I have more
of this, would it be possible
for every day to be a greater awakening: more light,
more light, your face on the pillow
with the sleep creases rudely
fragmenting it, hair so stiff
from paint and sheet rock it feels
like the dirty short hank
of mane I used to grab on Dandy’s neck
before he hauled me up and forward,
white flanks flecked green
with shit and the satin of his dander,
the livingness, the warmth
of all that blood just under the skin
and in the long, thick muscle of the neck—
He was smarter than most of the children
I went to school with. He knew
how to stand with just the crescent
of his hoof along a boot toe and press,
incrementally, his whole weight down. The pain
so surprising when it came,
its iron intention sheathed in stealth, the decisive
sudden twisting of his leg until the hoof
pinned one’s foot completely to the ground,
we’d have to beat and beat him with a brush
to push him off, that hot
insistence with its large horse eye trained
deliberately on us, to watch—
Like us, he knew how to announce through violence
how he didn’t hunger, didn’t want
despite our practiced ministrations: too young
not to try to empathize
with this cunning: this thing
that was and was not human we must respect
for itself and not our imagination of it: I loved him because
I could not love him anymore
in the ways I’d taught myself,
watching the slim bodies of teenagers
guide their geldings in figure eights around the ring
as if they were one body, one fluid motion
of electric understanding I would never feel
working its way through fingers to the bit: this thing
had a name, a need, a personality; it possessed
an indifference that gave me
logic and a measure: I too might stop wanting
the hand placed on back or shoulder
and never feel the desired response.
I loved the horse for the pain it could imagine
and inflict on me, the sudden jerking
of head away from halter, the tentative nose
inspecting first before it might decide
to relent and eat. I loved
what was not slave or instinct, that when you turn to me
it is a choice, it is always a choice to imagine pleasure
might be blended, one warmth
bleeding into another as the future
bleeds into the past, more light, more light,
your hand against my shoulder, the image
of the one who taught me disobedience
is the first right of being alive.
26. Three Hundred and Fifty Horses by Sara Kendrick
There was a man who had a horse
Means of friendship and transportation of course
Everywhere the man did go horse was there for show
This horse began old to grow
To the used car lot the man did go
Selecting a car with many horses you know
Not knowing it was a lemon he bought
Now on the car he constantly sought
Parts to replace what would not go and
On one side the man would stand
Peering into the broken car with plan
On a stump on the other side
The horse would stand trying to guide
His friend on where the problem did lie
Also he was studying the working parts
Trying to figure out how all those horses fit inside
27. My Sweet Aunt Mabel by Michael Wise
There is my sweet Aunt Mabel
sitting across the table
ever since her divorce
she eats like a horse
so we put her up in a stable