English poem
The Falcon
by Elinor Wylie (1885–1928)
Why should my sleepy heart be taught To whistle mocking-bird replies? This is another bird you've caught, Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes.
The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are colored like the sun, Her breast is colored like the moon.
Weave her a chain of silver twist, And a little hood of scarlet wool, And let her perch upon your wrist, And tell her she is beautiful.
BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER-- ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH
Alembics turn to stranger things Strange things, but never while we live Shall magic turn this bronze that sings To singing water in a sieve.
The trumpeters of Caesar's guard Salute his rigorous bastions With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard Though there is silver in the bronze.
Our mutable tongue is like the sea, Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit; Dangle in strings of sand shall be Who smooths the ripples out of it.