Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/87

O'er what vast lakes that stretch superbly dead,
  Till lashed to life by storm-clouds, have they flown?
In what wild lands, in laggard flight have led
  Their aerial career unseen, unknown,
  'Till now with twilight come their cries in lonely monotone?

The flapping of their pinions in the air
  Dies in the hush of distance, while they light
Within the fir tops, weirdly black and bare,
  That stand with giant strength and peerless height,
  To shelter fairy, bird and beast throughout the closing night.

Strange black and princely pirates of the skies,
  Would that your wind-tossed travels I could know!
Would that my soul could see, and, seeing, rise
  To unrestricted life where ebb and flow
  Of Nature's pulse would constitute a wider life below!

Could I but live just here in Freedom's arms,
  A kingly life without a sovereign's care!
Vain dreams! Day hides with closing wings her charms,
  And all is cradled in repose, save where
  Yon band of black, belated crows still frets the evening air.