A hundred wings are dropt as soft as one, Now ye are lighted - lovely to my sight The fearful circle of your wondering flight, Rapid and loud, and drawing homeward soon: And then the sober chiding of your tone As there ye sit from your own roofs arraigning My trespass on your haunts, so boldly done, Sounds like a solemn and a just complaining: O happy, happy race! for though there clings A feeble fear about your timid clan, Yet are ye blest! with not a thought that brings Disquietude, while proud and sorrowing man, An Eagle, weary of his mighty wings, With anxious inquest fills his little span. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHAPE OF THE CORONER by WALLACE STEVENS EPISTLE IN FORM OF A BALLAD TO HIS FRIENDS by FRANCOIS VILLON ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM by WILLIAM COWPER A MINUET ON REACHING THE AGE OF FIFTY by GEORGE SANTAYANA A SATIRICAL ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A LATE FAMOUS GENERAL by JONATHAN SWIFT |