A sense of wings— Soft downy wings and fair—
Great wings that whistle as they sweep
Along the still gulfs—empty, deep—
Of thin blue air.
Doves’ wings that follow,
Doves’ wings that fold,
Doves’ wings that flutter down
To nestle in your hold.
Doves’ wings that settle,
Doves’ wings that rest,
Doves’ wings that brood so warm
Above the little nest.
Larks’ wings that rise and rise,
Climbing the skies—
Fold and drop down
To birdlings brown.
Light wings of wood-birds, that one scarce believes
Moved in the leaves.
The quick, shy flight
Of wings that flee in fright—
A start as swift as light—
Only the shaken air
To tell that wings were th............