Slow, horses, slow,
As through the wood we go-
We would count the stars in heaven,
Hear the grasses grow:

Watch the cloudlets few
Dappling the deep blue.
In our open palms outspread
Catch the blessed dew.

Slow, horses, slow,
As through the wood we go-
All the beauty of the night
We would learn and know!

Thomas Westwood