Ii

Out of the high-built airy hive, Deep in the clouds that veil the sun, Look how the first of the swarm arrive; Timidly venturing, one by one, Down through the tranquil air, Wavering here and there, Large, and lazy in flight,-- Caught by a lift of the breeze, Tangled among the naked trees,-- Dropping then, without a sound, Feather-white, feather-light, To their rest on the ground.