AN ARROW, feathery, alive, He darts and sings, Then with a sudden skimming dive Of striped wings He finds a pine and, debonair, Makes with his mate All birds that ever rested there Articulate. The whisper of a multitude Of happy wings Is round him, a returning brood, Each time he sings. Though heaven be not for them or him Yet he is wise, And daily tiptoes on the rim Of paradise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MAN OF VERONA by CLAUDIAN SONGS OF TRAVEL: 16 by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK; 1658 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER S. JOHN BAPTIST by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 53. FAREWELL TO JULIET (15) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 28 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |