I SAW a reindeer, strayed from star-pastures,
Dancing home in the thin black dawn;
Dancing home through my balsam hedges,
Over my snow-dappled lawn.
Glass-shod, antlered with ferny silver,
Feather-fetlocked with ice, he crossed
Out through the shrouded meadows. My whistle
Splintered breathless to frost.
Barbed with fear lest the orange morning
Lock his star-fields’ remotest gate,
Home he leapt, while my whistle fainted,
‘Silver Heels! . . . Silver Horn! . . . Wait! . . .'