To a Lady, LXX

There cometh a winged form! What meanest thou, so high? His wing was wet from a lower storm, And he wafted, slowly by, For his was a spirit warm, And his was a quenchless eye! And I knew ’twas the eagle—untameable bird! For he came with the earth’s perfumes; And a mountain scent, wherever he stirr’d, He shook from his glittering plumes.