Down where the buildings are giants striding,
Where are you riding, away down there?
Ride? I would stir not for twenty stallions.
Yet, when your braggarts of planets fade,
I shall march with the young battalions,
Leading the van of the long parade!
Steed of the Pentecost what are you thinking?
Golden charger whose eyeballs glare.
Snuffing the smoke that is wine for your drinking
What are you thinking, away down there?