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...BUCOLIC COMEDY: SPRING by EDITH SITWELL THE MAD WOMAN'S SONG by KAREN SWENSON THE BURIED LADY by PAUL VALERY LONDON SNOW by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES KIT CARSON'S RIDE by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER |