The Eagle

I am a scorner of the earth—
Where life is a handful of grains.

My nature, like a hermit’s,
Loves wild solitude.

No breeze for me, no nightingale;
No song of love,. no song in the air.

I wing away from gardens,
Embowered with flowers enticing.

In wilderness the winds
Sharpen my ethereal flight.

I hunger not for birds of prey;
Mine is an austere life.

O East and west are for petty birds;
Mine is the world of boundless skies.

I stoop not to make a nest;
I am a dervish among the birds.