Nets to Catch the Wind

By ELINOR WYLIE
CONTENTS
Say not of Beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood Her wild wings of a gull.
Call her not wicked; that word's touch Consumes her like a curse; But love her not too much, too much, For that is even worse.
O, she is neither good nor bad, But innocent and wild! Enshrine her and she dies, who had The hard heart of a child.
Avoid the reeking herd, Shun the polluted flock, Live like that stoic bird, The eagle of the rock.
The huddled warmth of crowds Begets and fosters hate; He keeps, above the clouds, His cliff inviolate.
When flocks are folded warm, And herds to shelter run, He sails above the storm, He stares into the sun.
If in the eagle's track Your sinews cannot leap, Avoid the lathered pack, Turn from the steaming sheep.
If you would keep your soul From spotted sight or sound, Live like the velvet mole; Go burrow underground.
And there hold intercourse With roots of trees and stones, With rivers at their source, And disembodied bones.
Better to see your cheek grown hollow, Better to see your temple worn, Than to forget to follow, follow, After the sound of a silver horn.