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In such nets is ev'ry wingéd thing so caught Jay, swallow and hawk; flying along without thought-- And defeated all by gauze so softly draped Struck unseen in air, when from the winds they were scraped; Most are broken things-- as though in wounded pride Cry in their lament; Forever broken in stride Will no more to fight, as tho' by magic fell Captor's mercy beg, delivering them from such hell; Finches though, in truth, the smallest quarry there Patiently endure, radio-tagging as fare When released are not so chastened as the great Humbled not by this; not those so loving of fate; Waiting for their danger now to fin'ly pass May opinions give, fluently set to the task Inform the helpful men who think to do them good What a dirty trick, trap they have set in the wood! Funny that the mighty, silent hide their shame When their strength should fail, scorning the sound of their name Small and gold, undaunted in ferocity Seeing in the finches, pride versus true dignity.