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My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax; no levelled read more
My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax; no levelled malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the read more
He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
So, in the Libyan fable it is told
That once an eagle, stricken with a dart,
Said, read more
So, in the Libyan fable it is told
That once an eagle, stricken with a dart,
Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft,
"With our own feathers, not by others' hand
Are we now smitten."
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
read more
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle.
Last night the very gods showed me a vision--
I fast and prayed for their intelligence--thus:
I read more
Last night the very gods showed me a vision--
I fast and prayed for their intelligence--thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanished in the sunbeams; which portends,
Unless my sins abuse my divination,
Success to th' Roman host.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour,
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour,
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed read more
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his heart.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a read more
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
read more
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
See their own feathers pluck'd, to wing the dart,
Which rank corruption destines for their heart!