But whoso says the duck through ether flying,
Seen by the bard,
Equals the canvasback before me lying,
Tells a canard.
"Done to a turn, the flesh a dark carnation,
The gravy red;
Four slices from the breast—on such a ration
Gods might have fed.
Bryant, go to: to say that thy rare ghost-duck,
Traced 'gainst the sky,