Wonder do they stride at all  who bore him over her  glistening ground  I wonder, do I sense the breath  of dragons, steering sound    I catch the gust with my hands  like an open bowl  and hope the beast never stills  the wailing of his mould  I wonder, does it pour me something opaque  in mirrormere and grace  this that has lasted for quite some time  will it last throughout all days    The sound turns undressed back to me  like beryls floating in a wide stream  I wonder is this the final chance  to fulfill the golden steem    The sound of finches  ledged to the skin  defy this pledged cry  never has it really leaned to me as  a burden or an obvious lie    I wonder if her silver horns  bestow poison into my chalice  for I feel the stains like I've been  touched, though wounded not from  foreign malice    Be with me and feel with me the  sketch of your enchanting sky  so I can hold you in my arms  tight until the day I die