Dreamer...

The Little White Horse
Elizabeth Gouge

It was under the white moon that I saw him,
The little white horse, with neck arched high in pride.
Lovely his pride, delicate, no taint of self
Staining the unconscious innocence denied
Knowledge of good and evil, burden of days
Of shame crouched beneath the flail of memory.
No past for you, little white horse, no regret,
No future of fear in this silver forest---
Only the perfect now in the white moon-dappled ride.

A flower-like body fashioned all of light,
For the speed of light, yet momently at rest,
Balanced on the sheer knife-edge of perfection;
Perfection of grass silver upon the crest
Of the hill, before the scythe falls, snow in sun,
Of the shaken human spirit when God speaks
In His still small voice and for a breath of time
All is hushed; gone in a sigh, that perfection,
Leaving the sharp knife-edge turning slowly in the breast.

The raised hoof, the proud poised head, the flowing mane,
The supreme moment of stillness before the flight,
The moment of farewell, of wordless pleading
For remembrance of things lost to earthly sight---
Then the half-turn under the trees, a motion
Fluid as the movement of light on water . . .
Stay, oh stay in the forest, little white horse! . . .
He is lost and gone and now I do not know
If it was a little white horse that I saw,
Or only a moonbeam astray in the silver night.

The Song of Loreley

I wonder why I am so weary,
What’s making me so depressed,
It must be the tale, old and dreary,
That’s keeping my mind quite obsessed.

The air is cool, night is sinking,
And quietly is flowing the Rhine,
The tops of the mountains are blinking,
In purple-red sun-setting shine.

There’s sitting high up in the light,
A maiden so beautiful, fair,
Her jewels are glistening bright,
She combs her gold shimmering hair.

Her comb is of most precious gold,
She’s combing and singing so sweet,
Bewitching young fishers and old
Their hearts start to quiver and beat.

There’s man in his boat on the river,
He cannot but listen and stare,
A longing is making him shiver,
Look out, on the rock’s ledge, oh beware!

I fear there’s a crash, the boat sinking,
The man will be swallowed and gone,
And that with melodious singing
The Loreley will have done.