The Draft Horse by Robert Frost

 I came across this poem for the first time yesterday:

THE DRAFT HORSE by Robert Frost

With a lantern that wouldn't burn 
In too frail a buggy we drove 
Behind too heavy a horse 
Through a pitch-dark limitless grove. 

And a man came out of the trees 
And took our horse by the head 
And reaching back to his ribs 
Deliberately stabbed him dead. 

The ponderous beast went down 
With a crack of a broken shaft. 
And the night drew through the trees 
In one long invidious draft. 

The most unquestioning pair 
That ever accepted fate 
And the least disposed to ascribe 
Any more than we had to to hate,

We assumed that the man himself 
Or someone he had to obey 
Wanted us to get down 
And walk the rest of the way.

Here there is an article about the poem that goes on too long but begins with some interesting observations. There is another here and another here. I haven’t read those last two, but I am intrigued to do so as I am curious about other readers’ reactions to the poem’s mystery.