It is impossible to say just what I mean
But as if a magic lantern threw the thoughts in patterns on the scene,
From the north and from the south and from the west
The many birds flocking migrate
One with another identical, the breast
Of each like the others.
Like their brains and feet. Trembling the pale skies vibrate
With the earth-bound turning of the pages
Of Birds of North America bound in leather
More dark more old more new than that
Binding The Tall Proud Wonder of the Cat.
Hounding footprints near immemorial heather,
Of the raging weather,
As such winds do, like angry mothers,
Never turns another face; simply cages
The wandering lost. As for this,
It is like this, formulated thus,
Among the little and more little proud things of doggerel,
The sensate things that men create.
But Forfeiting a forthcoming pun, from the
West and from the North and from the south
Names just as well the yawning mouth
of the turbulent river as the direction
In which birds gather to migrate.
And Children, Bright, reading less complicated books of natural history,
Learn of Turdus this and the Great Horned that
Before the annals of the cat.
Little children At night, tend in groups to observe the stars
With wonder communicated through held hands.
Children In daylight, can easily be spotted
By their little colored overcoats
A mothers positive identification.
While perpetually In its particular orbit, biding the eternal hour,
Striding the ancestral path, turning back, going forth
As from the west and the south and from the north
Birds congregate with cries win the pale skies overhead,
The lone leopard walks. Its skin is hunted.
By the vulture on the carcass,
It is interrogated. In the silence of the veldt
The question forms itself as the heat of the day
Which sits round the kill, grinning,
Coming before and after:
Will this child who strayed out of civilization
Be eaten by a predator or by a scavenger?
Regard its coat, the leopard answers turning,
To the bird or o the heat it cannot know,
And pronounce then what such skin attracts.
The bird travels with decision on its back
To the astonishment of the mighty mountains where, Cathayan,
In droves, large cats perambulate
Their breathing perambulating clocks and instruments
Their footfalls measuring the space between skulls and time
Their tails when they sit curling on the curled
Rope, guide book, canteens and pelvic decoration.
They know from the east
Birds migrate over decent memories
Of children playing in the wilderness.
Before and after
To her footmen of varying loyalties
Queen Victoria, who was never
At any time Himalayan, said,
Ah, my foes and oh, my friends,
The laureate plays with words again.
At another time, through the telescope
She spied a star holding hands
With its neighboring aura, regarding
Her with wonder, wide-eyed.
She was never to do the telescope
Much afterwards, preferred on her lap
To follow the score
Sir Arthur Sullivans Ruddigore.