Roaming the lonely wilds
I may chance upon the soul of birds.
No longer the mere pastures.
Neither the grains
Nor the bare burden only.
Now, the shining sweep,
The rebellious flout
That defies the world's puny pull.
In the fields and fen
They still peck at their feed
And evade nothing
Yet their heart-blood is warm
With the bluest of sky-blue oaths.
All the qualms and clamorous
In the turns and twists of life
Lodged deep in their heart
Like bullets from the hunter's gun
Dissolve and disappear
In that holy heat.
Only the brave sharp swift wings
Set no limit to the horizon
If ever this heart be utter alone
I may attain the soul of birds
Aware of another sun.