What’s in your mind, my dove, my coney? Lennox Berkeley

What's in your mind, my dove, my coney;
Do thoughts grow like feathers, the dead end of life;
Is it making of love or counting of money
Or a raid on the jewels, the plans of a thief?

Open your eyes, my dearest dallier;
Let hunt with your hands for escaping me;
Go through the motions of exploring the familiar;
Stand on the brink of the warm white day

Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;
Silence the birds and darken the air;
Change mе with terror, alive in a moment;
Strikе for the heart and have me there