So oft about me I can see the ancient art of Falconry; From resting on the rigid wrist, the falcon flies And strikes his quarry till it dies. The hooded bird unleashed and free Blinks at the light of day and quicker than a winged dart Is on his prey. Its fury past, the falcon then returns To don its hood and leash, and wait its master's whim -- To sit or fly at his command; to serve but him. So like ourselves, our passions and our moods Are held in leash, are covered with a hood: One liberated flight and lo! we have destroyed So much of good. Perhaps we call the wild bird back To rest again upon the arm, But some emotion or some love was stricken to its death Beyond all harm. Swift falcon, wilt thou never die with falconry Thy outlived art? Why dost thou rest with hooded head So near my heart! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOHENGRIN; PROEM by EMMA LAZARUS INVOCATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS TWILIGHT ON THE DESERT by ETHEL FRANCES BARNARD VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF P. BURGESS; A CHILD OF SUPERIOR ENDOWMENTS by BERNARD BARTON ONCE ON A TIME by BERTON BRALEY |