Fearless riders of the gale, In your bleak eyes is the memory Of sinking ships: Desire, unsatisfied, Droops from your wings. You lie at dusk In the sea’s ebbing cradles, Unresponsive to its mood; Or hover and swoop, Snatching your food and rising again, Greedy, Unthinking. You veer and steer your callous course, Unloved of other birds; And in your soulless cry Is the mocking echo Of woman’s weeping in the night.
I Woke: —
Night, lingering, poured upon the world
Of drowsy hill and wood and lake
And the breeze accompanied with hushed fingers
On the birches.
Gently the dawn held out to me
A golden handful of bird’s-notes.