Cool, cool reflection, swan-shape motion, O
Rare, wan, self-gazing, dying, glide…
I take king-fisher to break with rings the slow
Hypnotic figure. I choose the open wide

Wing of the buzzard or the spread of the hawk, 
Or wild geese in a wedge like an arrow-head.
Bird, symbol of our aspiration, as we walk
Country and stare upward, let it ever be said

We choose first the breasted daring of the air;
Eagles we do not see and the hurry-song of the lark,
Before this tranced attitude, this rare
Creature peering into water ruffled with the dark.

And yet old gods, old legends and old songs
Sleep on the waters potent with the swan;
Our Irish brothers and the Grecian throngs
Saw the phantom with the breeze upon

This water-drop, the soul. American lore
Plods the great continent searching the symbol-prize.
Will we come eventually to this little shore
To watch the swan with fascinated eyes?