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...CHAMBER MUSIC: 4 by JAMES JOYCE THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SITTING by CECIL DAY LEWIS SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN THE LIFE SO SHORT by EAMON GRENNAN SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |