Dropping down through tired skies; The wires sighing above the propeller-whispers; The cooling wind pouring over the windshield grass; Our ships are dropping into the valley Over the gleaming tile of scattered roof-tops And abbey spires. A moon, already far beyond the last retreat of day Is rising in its bloom. We are sleek carnivorous birds Whistling down to a haven among the hills, Our bodies gorged with the blood of legions. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARRIAGE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE ON DONNE'S POETRY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE VETERAN SIRENS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE by ROBERT SOUTHEY PHRYGES: JUSTICE PROTECTS THE KING by AESCHYLUS THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN by AESOP MY FORE-ELDERS by WILLIAM BARNES |