Dappledun by Phoebe Cary Horse poem

A little boy who, strange to say,

Was called by the name of John,

Once bought himself a little horse

To ride behind, and upon.

A handsomer beast you never saw,

He was so sleek and fat;

He has but a single fault," said John,

"And a trifling one at that"

His mane and tail grew thick and long,

He was quick to trot or run;

His coat was yellow, flecked with


John called him Dappledun.

He never kicked and never bit;

In harness well he drew ;

But this was the single foolish thing

That Dappledun would do.

He ran in clover up to his knees,

His trough was filled with stuff;

Yet he'd jump the neighbor's fence,

and act As if he hadn't enough.

If he only could have been content

With his feed of oats and hay,

Poor headstrong, foolish Dappledun

Had been alive to-day.

But one night when his rack was filled

With what he ought to eat,

He thrust his nose out of his stall,

And into a bin of wheat

And there he ate, and ate, and ate,

And when he reached the tank

Where Johnny watered him next morn,

He drank, and drank, and drank.

And when that night John carried him

The sweet hay from the rick,

He lay and groaned, and groaned, and

groaned, For Dappledun was sick.

And when another morning came

And John rose from his bed

And went to water Dappledun,

Poor Dappledun was dead !