And now they all wheel suddenly and fly
To the other side, and higher in the air.
And now a laggard with a woman’s head
Comes crying, ‘I have run upon the sword.
I have fled to my beloved in the air,
In the waste of the high air, that we may wander
Among the windy meadows of the dawn.’
But why are they still waiting? why are they
Circling and circling over the masthead?
What power that is more mighty than desire