Classic Poem

My hands are fast in the mane of his young stallion,
The earth flies backward like a spindle unwinding.
The wind drinks my breath,
But the breath of my lover is on my neck.
His hand is on the lock of my heart.
Close he holds me and safe,
As the earth flies backward like a spindle unwinding.

Now if Death should drink my breath, like the wind,
Glad would I be.
For then would I never feel the hand of my lover
Fall from the lock of my heart.

My hands are fast in the mane of his young stallion,
The earth flies backward like a spindle unwinding.