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White Horses
White Horses thunder on black rocks,
Their fields turn green and grey and blue,
Their grass is dark and wet and ugly,
But they themselves are beauty’s true form.
White Horses thunder on black rocks,
They crash against their stoney fence,
Like crazed men roaring to be free,
Like vassals of pure brilliance.
White Horses thunder on black rocks,
I have seen their power, and it dwarfs me,
They turn the mountains into gravel,
And the gravel into soft sand.
White Horses thunder on black rocks.
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