Bird of Prey

   

The Eagle

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Lost in the Clouds

..When you wake up, you will have the parts of the world.

West, an empty conch of water and air.
East, always behind you, the voided memory of snow-covered fir.
And extending from your outspread arms
Nothing but bronze grasses, north and south…
 [excerpt] from: It Was Winter
            author: CZESLAW MILOSZ