Page:Poet Lore, volume 27, 1916.djvu/131



A song for you, golden plover: Not the song of a lover Who dreams of a blush, Nor the song for a thrush Whose music is tremulous, sweet; But a song for a heart that dares tempest or hush, A measure for wings that are fleet.

Fleet fleet  fleet  ! Who but the winds can trace you, chase you? Flutter of lightning, you southward sweep, To the wonder of thunder you overleap. Faster faster  faster  ! Who but the winds can face you, pace you? Fearless of foaming and booming and crash; Scorner of breeze, adorner of zephr; Come  gone  in a flash! Speedier speedier  speedier  ! Who but the winds can overtake you? Who but a gale can check and shake you? Who but a hurricane can make you Drop to the earth whose worth shall wake you From your frenzied trance of flight?

Like a volley of shot your flocks alight, Scattering gracefully over the sedge, Palled in spume from the cauldron’s edge. Surer than furrow’s is breaker’s pledge: Whom the welter of sea and sky invite, On the lands of man show sudden fright.

A song for you, golden plover: Not the song for a lover Who dreams of a flush Of delicate plumes that gleam as they hover Over a flower they make less fair; But a song of wings whose miraculous rush Is measure atune with the air.