Stood Iseult, arching her neck to the curb,

A lean head and fiery, strong quarters and wiry,

A loin rather light, but a shoulder superb.

…

Ay! so ends the tussle, -- I knew the tan muzzle

Was first, though the ring-men were yelling "Dead heat!"

A nose I could swear by, but Clarke said, "The mare by

A short head." And that’s how the favourite was beat.