With wild sea fillies and soaking bridles.
With salty cobs and gusts in their limbs.
All the horses of his haul of miracles.
Gallop through the arched green farms,
Trot and gallop with gulls upon them
And thunderbolts in their manes.
Excerpt from the poem “Fern Hill”
All the moon long I heard, blessed among the stables, the nightjarsFlying with the ricks, and the horsesFlashing into the dark……In the first, spinning place, the horses walking warmOut of the whinniying green stableOnto the fields of praise.