 | [The taming of the falcon, in] American sonnets |  |
126
THE TAMING OF THE FALCON.
The bird sits spelled upon the lithe brown wristOf yonder turbaned fowler, who hath lamed
No feathered limb, but the winged spirit tamed
With his compelling eye. He need not twist
The silken toil, nor set the thick-limed snare;
He lures the wanderer with his steadfast gaze,
It shrinks, it quails, it trembles—yet obeys,
And lo! he has enslaved the thing of air.
The fixed, insistent human will is lord
Of all the earth;—but in the awful sky,
Reigns absolute, unreached by deed or word,
Above creation, through eternity,
Outshining the sun's shield, the lightning's sword,
The might of Allah's unaverted eye.
| [The taming of the falcon, in] American sonnets | |