Unhappy craft of Daedalus reborn, br That liest prone with white wings torn, br And, like some giant prehistoric bird, with throb- br bing sound br Doest beat they wings on unresponsive ground. br Forlorn! Forlorn! br br This very morn didst set out with thy plume br Yet damp from thine Icarian tomb, br To plough in mirth again the Stygian wave. With br launching cry br And sails outset didst dive the unattempted sky br To doom! To doom! br br The early reaper at the start of day br Pauses ‘mid the falling hay, br And stands in wond’ring gaze, with eyes upturned br to watch they flight; br To him dost seem some goblin that the lifting nigh br Hath gone astray. br br About thee in they meteor flight along br The shore, the shrieking sea birds throng br In clustered clouds of angry rivalry, and skim the br sea br To rise and dip again, and follow with their free br Wild tuneless song. br br Unfledged, untimely birdling of a breath! br No useless shroud hast thou, nor wreath. br They flight was brief, yet wert thou eagle-hearted br as of yore. br When fearlessly didst flee that alien Cretan shore br To sink in death. br br And now the furrowed earth holds fast they wings, br While far afield the ox-bell rings br A strange, soft dirge. Thy blood is dropping on br the frightened grass; br The night is hushed. A sad, scarce-moving breeze br doth pass, br And passing sings.