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Poetry
Chaikhana
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About Mary OliverTimeline (1935 - ) |
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Original Language |
The Lark
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And I have seen,
at dawn, the lark spin out of the long grass and into the pink air - its wings, which are neither wide nor overstrong, fluttering -- the pectorals ploughing and flashing for nothing but altitude -- and the song bursting all the while from the red throat. And then he descends, and is sorry. His little head hangs and he pants for breath for a few moments among the hoops of the grass, which are crisp and dry, where most of his living is done -- and then something summons him again and up he goes, his shoulders working, his whole body almost collapsing and floating to the edges of the world. We are reconciled, I think, to too much. Better to be a bird, like this one -- an ornament of the eternal. As he came down once, to the nest of the grass, Squander the day, but save the soul, I heard him say.
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Ivan
M. Granger's original poetry, stories and commentaries are Copyright ©
2002 - 2008 by Ivan M. Granger.
All other material is copyrighted by the respective authors, translators and/or
publishers.