He stands at no easel, he mixes no paint, <br />He colours no canvas to gladden the eye, <br />Yet the picture he makes will not fade or grow faint <br />Till our love of the chase shall desert us and die. <br />He's an artist of parts <br />Who appeals to the hearts <br />That can thrill to good hunting and hounds in full cry. <br />By his seat in the saddle, his touch on the reins, <br />His skill and his mastery, who can gainsay <br />That here is an artist in all that pertains <br />To the horse and his handling - a real R.A. ? <br />An artist 'twould irk <br />Not to cut out the work <br />When the hats are crammed down and a fox is away. <br />You will find him no centre of salon or crush, <br />No letters attached to his name may he sign, <br />But there's no one so eager to handle the Brush <br />And there's none so consistently found on the Line. <br />If an artist you ask, <br />Here's the man for the task, <br />Making pictures where keenness and courage combine.<br /><br />William Henry Ogilvie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-artist-31/
