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THE BITTERN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A soaring shadow and a hoarse wild cry
Last Line: Of mighty winds unleashed -- will he come back?


A soaring shadow and a hoarse wild cry
When evening drops and cool airs drift and climb
From brown Witch Water. But one thrilling time
He suffered our espial patiently,
Perched on a neighboring shrub, a trim dark shape
Collared with chestnut; his observant eye
Admonished brief respectful scrutiny.
A flash -- and he had made his swift escape.

We listen for his sudden startling word
From high green chambers in our towering trees.
We ponder on his unsolved absences.
For us no lesser sweeter minstrel fills
This austere lodger's place. We miss the bird.
No goldfinch gossip and no bubbling thrills
Of owls at night, no mellow oriole flute
Enchants us like the bittern's brusque salute.

Where does he spend that passionate interlude,
Scorning our runnel for some fen-land strange
Where he may build and woo and feed and range,
Weaving the idyl of the mate and brood?
When autumn suns with waning ardor burn
On the light rime of dawn -- grim, taciturn,
Wise in the lore of freshets and the wrack
Of mighty winds unleashed -- will he come back?





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