To The Falconer

Poemata LXXV

Hunter, who in life / strikes the earth with taloned feet / waits amid the pines

And so clear the sky 
         to those who yearn for it
    The everest of blues
  Zenith the deepest of hues;
Indigo the mood 
  of those who see the split
      clouds in brightest morn
    when without wings they were born;
   Light the clouds must seem
      and made of softest wool
 Paradise of flight
    softening darkness in night--
      Near the stars must be
to those whose eyes are full
  feet upon the earth
        gazers of muddiest birth;
O, but what for those
whom nature did, suppose
grant this feather'd frame
grounded they are just the same?    
        Yearn for flight but fail
  To rise above the ground
Say, but truly fear
     stars're not ever so near;
   Clouds they know are cold
 and fear that when they're found
     they would blind and freeze
   still, they are pining for these--
    Taloned master so young,
      and seeing the worth of his prize
   Knowing then the cost
should his attempt still be lost;
  Turns away instead
    yet fixed are his eyes
          Neither swoops nor flies
In this most perfect of skies.