 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
167
The Eagle
They have him in a cage
And little children run
To offer him well-meant bits of bun,
And very common people say, “My word!
Ain't he a 'orrible bird!”
And the smart, “How absurd!
Poor, captive, draggled, downcast lord of the air!”
And little children run
To offer him well-meant bits of bun,
And very common people say, “My word!
Ain't he a 'orrible bird!”
And the smart, “How absurd!
Poor, captive, draggled, downcast lord of the air!”
Steadfast in his despair,
He doth not rage;
But with unconquerable eye
And soul aflame to fly,
Considereth the sun.
He doth not rage;
But with unconquerable eye
And soul aflame to fly,
Considereth the sun.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |