Of a Wild White Bird

To soar as a wild white bird, With a song unbound and fetterless! With a gush of song in the throat, Loosened and loud and letterless, And the wind its only accompaniment.

To sing and soar and look down On a world one leaves when one tires of it: With a glancing wing for a sail, Dashing, when one desires of it, Through the spray of the great sea-wilderness.

Or sweeping with mighty curves From land to sky, and to land again: To cast off Time, and to stay Where one's will alone lays hand on one: Not to own or owe in the universe.

Sudden and swift some day Meet Death, and know no fear of Him, But close the eyes and have done. . . . When a wild bird dies none hear of him. He has sung and ceased, and is happiest.