I have need of the speed
Of your thunder-shattering steed.
Wind, wind of black night,
I would battle with your might.
Take me by my soaring mind.
No more blind, I shall find
Hell's depth and sky's height.
I would follow where you lead,
Freed, freed of sense and creed.
Wind, wind of black night,
I would see with your sight.
Take me by my burning soul,
Stark, whole, to God my goal,
Clean darkness, sheer light.
YELLOW SATINS
(To Janey Golding)
When I am rich, mother,
You will sit in satins,
Yellow satins, looking out upon the street.
You will smile out on the neighbours,
Who will have no yellow satins;
And there'll be a great big hassock to rest your tired feet.
You'll have a gold-clasped family album,
And a grand piano in the corner;
But yellow satins, yellow satins, I have chiefly dreamed of them.
And the most wonderful silk-lined work-box,
With the clothes of my first baby,
For your dear pale fingers to hem.
And the neighbours will come to see you,
And pretend not to be looking
At the wonderful yellow satins, till I take you away to bed.
But in dreaming of the yellow satins,
I have forgotten, I have forgotten....
Isn't it seven years, little mother, since you've been dead?