01.01.2011, 12:37
THE EAGLE AND THE SONNET.
As on the sceptre of the Olympian King
The Royal eagle sat, bedrowsed and still,
The Theban ' sketch'd him, while the savage will
And strength of the great bird w^ere slumbering ;
If Pindar drew him best with drooping wings.
And on a quiet perch his likeness took,
How shall the sonnet, least of rhythmic things,
Presume to take him flying ? Will he brook
To wheel and hover, while I hunt for rhymes ?
Returning at the Muse's fitful times.
For yet another study ? And, if so.
Will he not yearn at last to strike one blow
At his own miniature, and swoop from high
To clutch my climax with an angry cry ?
As on the sceptre of the Olympian King
The Royal eagle sat, bedrowsed and still,
The Theban ' sketch'd him, while the savage will
And strength of the great bird w^ere slumbering ;
If Pindar drew him best with drooping wings.
And on a quiet perch his likeness took,
How shall the sonnet, least of rhythmic things,
Presume to take him flying ? Will he brook
To wheel and hover, while I hunt for rhymes ?
Returning at the Muse's fitful times.
For yet another study ? And, if so.
Will he not yearn at last to strike one blow
At his own miniature, and swoop from high
To clutch my climax with an angry cry ?