Wilfred Scawen Blunt (1840–1922)

BRAVE as a falcon and as merciless,

With bright eyes watching still the world, thy prey,

I saw thee pass in thy lone majesty,

Untamed, unmated, high above the press.

The dull crowd gazed at thee. It could not guess

The secret of thy proud aërial way,

Or read in thy mute face the soul which lay

A prisoner there in chains of tenderness.

Lo, thou art captured. In my hand to-day

I hold thee, and awhile thou deignest to be

Pleased with my jesses. I would fain beguile

My foolish heart to think thou lovest me. See,

I dare not love thee quite. A little while

And thou shalt sail back heavenwards. Woe is me!