Amid the sadly mortal, something springs
Afresh and unexpected. Spreads her wings
Unlooked, un-hoped for. Fledged in shady nest
Takes sudden flight, now east, now sharply west —
Sees the declining Sun, perhaps, and seeks
To follow. Ah, poor bird, no birdly beaks
Can peck that nut apart; where Sun doth fall
Can follow none, except as follow all,
And none return. Yet fly on, pretty thing;
And hope on; hear thou not the ding-a-ling
Of Hell’s much told-of bells; for thee
As yet they ring not. Not the case for me.