Whose halters none but the wind may twist,
Whose soft white flanks may feel no spur
But the breeze that is setting the woods a-stir;
O beautiful, silent, steeds of grey,
I will give you my heart to carry away!
As I stoop in the curve of your arching manes
I shall feel the tug of your silver reins;
I shall see the foam on your rosy breasts
As the dawn dips under your splendid crests;
Though I know that your step is firm and fleet
I shall hear no sound of your gliding feet!
You shall carry me over the mountain bar
To the land where your breeding pastures are,
Beyond where your squadrons blind the sun,
To the fields where the glitterng moon-mists run,
To the forge where your hoofs are silver-shod
'Neath the anvil sparks of the stars of God!
O beautiful silent steeds of grey,
You shall carry my wistful heart away;
As your shadows are lost on the mountain wall
So the shadow of grief from my heart shall fall,
And the peace of the skies shall be mine to share
When you cover my heart from its world of Care!
First published in The Bulletin, 20 July 1911
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography