Explore "The Snow" by O. Henry on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis thirty miles, you say? Ah, well, / Come, mount! I am no hot-house flower. / I love the cold and the north wind's power; / Rioting, buffeting, rushing pellmell. / Did you think that the colonel's daughter / Was afraid to ride in a little cold / Back to the fort? Why, Travers, you ought to / Do guard duty till you're gray and old.
Come, mount -- Ah, this is life again; / Like a mustang in a hunter's pen, / So many months I have fretted sore / For a gallop on Firefly's back once more. / Going to snow? -- Well, what do I care? / I told you, Travers, I am not afraid. / There are few things that I would not dare; / You can go back if you'd rather have stayed.