THE birds that soar break space
Like heavy bodies hurled!
Not so the birds of night
They move as in a sphere
On which they touch always
How patterned their flight!
The owl, the whippoorwill!
And like volcano's ash
His plumes all cinderous
Black mirrors are his eyes
(The owl's). They'll fill with light
What time will come the cries
As from tongues taut with dews
(The whippoorwills). What sounds
Are in their day-lost world,
What motions and what hues!
