LAND BESET
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Look to the hawk,
Who, wheeling in the skies,
Is flight incarnate while he flies;
Yet if he walk
Upon the trampled earth
Beside the this door, no creature cries
To welcome him; no worth
Can change him in a creature's eyes.
I shall not stand
On this wide plain unturned
Through this spring day, but I have learned
That in the land
Are stranger men than this dark bird
Whose talons seize his prey:
And these These men, with but the spoken word,
Sharp, low, or smiling, do betray.
