And craned his neck to kiss what he espied.
But down he fell, unseemly in his pride,
And told his follies to the fitful breeze.
III.
I was convicted of as strange a thing,
And wild as strange; for, in a hope forlorn,
I fought with Fate. But now the flag is torn
Which like a herald in the days of spring
I held aloft. The birds have ceased to sing