“a poem by Eleonora”
That was the sudden whir of startled wings
Which took to flight upon our slightest tread
Through woodland sanctuary.
There! It brings
A host of fleeing folk all bent ahead
For hurried cover, now that the surprise
Of this intrusion is most fully passed.
(One wonders at the fear of wary eyes
And how long does their silent watching last.)
There must be some design of bird and beast
That binds their wild, free kinship and more
Than we suspect, a creed at least,
To hold courageously to ancient lore.
It makes a desperate and faulty thing
Of man’s great insolence on being king.