The Winged Beetle

55 THE HAWK AND THE BABE I THAT am an hawk of gold Proud in adamantine poise On the pillars of torquoise, See, beyond the starry fold Where a darkling orb is rolled. There, beneath a grove of yew, Plays a babe. Should I despise Such a foam of gold, and eyes Burning berylline, so blue That the sun seems peeping through ? Did I swoop, were Heaven amazed ? With my beak I strike but once ; Out there leap a million suns. Through the universe that blazed Screams their light, and death is dazed. In my womb the babe may leap ; Seek him not within mine eye ! Nor demand thou of me why I should plunge from crystal steep Like a plummet to the deep !