While George went to the house
For his revolver, Michal climbed up the hill
Weeping; but when he came with death in his hand
She'd not go away, but watched. At the one shot
The great dark bird leaped at the roof of the cage
In silence and struck the wood; it fell, then suddenly
Looked small and soft, muffled in its folded wings.

The nerves of men after they die dream  dimly
And dwindle into their peace; they are not very passionate,
And what they had was mostly spent when they lived.
They are sieves for leaking desire; they have many pleasures
And conversations; their dreams too are like that.
The unsocial birds are a greater race;
Cold-eyed and their blood burns. What leaped up to death,
The extension of one storm-dark wing filling its world,
Was more than the soft garment that fell. Something had flown away.
           Oh cage- hoarded desire,
Like the blade of a breaking wave reaped by the wind, or flame
           rising from fire, or cloud-coiled lightning
Suddenly unfurled in the cave of heaven: I that am stationed,
           and cold at heart, incapable of burning,
My blood like standing sea-water lapped in a stone pool,
           my desire to the rock, how can I speak of you?
Mine will go down to the deep rock.
                                                                               This rose,
Possessing the air over its emptied prison,
The eager powers at its shoulders waving shadowless
Unwound the ever-widened spirals of flight
As a star light, it spins the night -stabbing threads
From its own strength and substance: so the aquiline desire
Burned itself into meteor freedom  and spired
Higher still . . .