The Hoofs of Pegasus

In Short

This 1923 collection is a lyrical exploration of the intersection between religious mysticism and the natural world. Through a series of brief, imagistic poems, the author examines how the divine manifests in everyday objects—from the fruit in a shop to the music heard in a symphony hall. It is a work of quiet, rhythmic beauty, balancing the constraints of societal roles with a restless, artistic hunger. Its lasting power lies in its ability to elevate the "homely common tasks" of life into moments of profound, spiritual significance.

The Story

The collection begins with a vision of Pegasus, a symbol of untameable beauty and inspiration. From this opening, the speaker moves into a contemplative rhythm, alternating between the comfort of domesticity and the call of a wider, mythic landscape. We see the speaker working in the fields, gathering wheat and grapes, only to find the experience transformed into a personal sacrament. This is not a life of withdrawal, but one of deep observation where the "blue eye of God" is seen looking back from a well.

As the arc progresses, the poems shift between the roles of the prisoner and the wanderer. The speaker acknowledges the "fivefold gyves" of her existence—the social expectations, the home, the "proper wife" identity—yet she finds a way to turn these bonds into a "shining song." She identifies with figures of longing and displacement: Hagar in the desert, a beggar maiden, or a prisoner who uses her captivity as a lens to see the world more clearly. She looks at the "patteran" on a floor—the secret mark of a gypsy—and feels the pull of the open moor, even while acknowledging her current life.

The middle section delves into the classical and the religious, invoking archangels, Botticelli’s Venus, and the story of Ishtar. These myths are not distant; they are brought into the immediate, lived experience. The "Ascent of Ishtar" mirrors the changing seasons, linking the divine journey to the spring wheat and the "green swords of grain" in the field. The speaker finds that even in the city, the sight of pomegranates for sale can transport her to the cedared hills of Lebanon.

Toward the end, the tone matures into an acceptance of mortality and the passage of time. The speaker reflects on an "old house" with its "strange, defeated grace" and the "poignant beauty" of fading autumn leaves. The finality of death is framed not as an end, but as a potential state of greater freedom. The collection closes with the image of a "caged bird" that no longer sings, yet whose beating wings continue to echo in the silence. It is a quiet resignation, acknowledging that while the body may be contained, the spirit continues its restless, inward flight long after the outward music has ceased.

How It Unfolds

The invocation of the wild The speaker glimpses the legendary, untameable Pegasus in a twilight meadow. This encounter sets the tone for the entire collection, establishing the presence of a fleeting, divine energy that leaves its mark on the earth.

The sacramental daily life The speaker finds holiness in the most ordinary of tasks, such as binding grain or pruning vines. By reframing these chores as a spiritual Eucharist, she bridges the gap between the mundane and the eternal.

The tension of the domestic cage The poems frequently contrast a life of stability and marriage with a deep, irrepressible longing for the open road. The speaker observes the "patteran" on her floor and feels the pull of the gypsy life, struggling to reconcile her domestic duty with her inner wanderlust.

The mythic lens The speaker overlays her experiences with ancient stories, finding the presence of Venus, Ishtar, and the archangels in the modern world. This brings a sense of grand scale to her observations, suggesting that the patterns of the past are constantly repeating in the present.

The silence of the end The collection moves toward a quiet, introspective stillness. The final poems grapple with the limitations of the body and the silence that follows, ultimately finding a sort of peace in the "wordless ecstasy" of a night-blooming moon.

The People

The speaker is the primary figure, a woman who is simultaneously a "beggar maiden" at heart and a "proper wife" by circumstance. She wants both the safety of a home and the freedom of the open moor, and her growth lies in her ability to find beauty in that very conflict. She is observant, deeply sensitive to sensory details, and prone to finding holiness in unexpected places.

She is joined by a cast of archetypal figures who reflect her own inner states. The "Unknown Roman Soldier" at the crucifixion represents the potential for grace in an indifferent world. The "beggar maiden" represents her desire to discard the "dusty self" of her social identity. "Our Lady of Understanding" serves as a mirror for her own experience, representing a figure who is "humble, proud, and wise." Finally, the "musician" acts as a catalyst, teaching the speaker how to translate the raw noise of the world into meaningful, ordered art. Each figure serves to pull the speaker toward a deeper, more refined understanding of her own place in the cosmos.

In Its Own Voice

I left my dusty self upon the sand Like an old garment. Naked, free, I felt the waves close over me;

The speaker describes the sensation of drifting into sleep, shedding the weight of her waking identity.

I’m glad I’m not The maid Cophetua chose.

The speaker asserts her contentment with her own humble life, rejecting the cold, ornate world of the wealthy.

God is the truth hid in a well, How dread His gaze, how blue!

The speaker reflects on the sudden, overwhelming realization of the divine presence lurking within the familiar.

What It's Really About

The central question of the book is how to live a spiritual life within the constraints of a conventional one. It asks if the mundane world—the kitchen, the city street, the marriage bed—is enough to satisfy a soul that craves the infinite. The argument is that the sacred is not located in some distant heaven, but is "hid in a well" or found in the "shattered rainbows" of a peacock’s plume. It is a meditation on the power of attention; if one looks closely enough, the "dusty furrow" of a field can become a site of revelation. Ultimately, it concerns the transformation of "iron years" into song, suggesting that beauty and meaning are not things we find, but things we create through our perception.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate quiet, lyrical poetry that favors imagery over abstract philosophy will find much to admire here. The experience of reading this book is akin to walking through a garden at dusk; it is atmospheric, pensive, and focused on the shifting light. It is particularly resonant for those who feel the pull of two worlds—the desire for a settled life and the competing desire for total, unbridled freedom.

A modern reader should be aware that the collection is rooted in the early 20th-century tradition of nature poetry and religious mysticism. While the language is accessible and precise, it lacks the irony or detachment that characterizes much of today’s verse. Some may find the recurring religious imagery traditional or even restrictive, yet the author’s persistent search for the "flame of the wheat" feels strikingly relevant in an age of constant noise. There is a refreshing, unhurried quality to these poems; they do not rush to conclusions but instead invite the reader to sit with the "hushed grey music" of the world. It is a slim, elegant volume that lingers in the mind, reminding us that even within the "caged" confines of our daily responsibilities, there is always the potential for the heart to beat like a bird against the bars.