He will watch the hawk with an indifferent eye
       Or pitifully;
Nor on those eagles that so feared him, now
       Will strain his brow;
Weapons men use, stone, sling and strong-thewed bow
       He will not know.

This aristocrat, superb of all instinct,
       With death close-linked
Had paced the enormous cloud, almost had won
       War on the sun;
Till now, like Icarus mid-ocean-drowned,
       Hands, wings, are found.