Safe underneath a roof that softly turns, The painted herd will pause a little while, Of phantom steeds, exiled on earthly isle, And each one waits, while the serpent's spurned. Though some are bound to wagons in a trance, A noble pride is burning in their mien; A mare stands guardian, yet mostly unseen. And up and down a pale white coney goes. Even a peacock's here, far from the wood, Save for a leather strap, and fastened tight, A young pink girl trapped in her childhood. Upon the ape there sits a boy in blue, Clinging so fiercely with his trembling hands, While baring teeth and tongue the monster stands. And up and down a pale white coney goes. Upon their beasts they circle through the air, Young women, cheerful, almost outgrown now The rhythm of the swings, with a shy bow, Mid-leap, they look beyond the turning fair. - Yet up and down a pale white coney goes. To and fro it spins, swift without an aim. A blue, a pink, a profile in the frame ... And now and then a smile, turned all the way, A bright one, blinding, squandered in the play, On this delirious and fevered game ... Still up and down a pale white coney goes.
