A flock of keys I had feeding out of my hand, To clapping of wings and croaking and feathery fight; On tiptoe I stood and stretched out my arm, and the sleeve Rolled up, so I felt at my elbow the nudging of night. And the dark. And a pond in the dark, and the lapping of waves. And the birds of the species. I-love-you that others deny Would be killed, so it seemed, before the savage black beaks, The strong and the strident, were ever to falter and die. And a pond. And the dark. And festive the palpitant flares From pipkins of midnight pitch. And the boat's keel By the wave. And always the greedy noise of the birds Who fighting over the elbow fluttered and cawed. The gullets of dams were agurgle, gulping the night. And the mother-birds, if the fledglings on whom they dote Were not to be fed, would kill, so it seemed, before The roulades would die in the strident, the crooked throat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL THE BEACON; A MUSICAL DRAMA by JOANNA BAILLIE OPPORTUNITY by JOHN JAMES INGALLS DIRGE IN WOODS by GEORGE MEREDITH TO - (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE TRAVAIL OF PASSION by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |