The Wild Goose

The wild goose flies, the wild goose flies, The wild goose flies, and the heart of a man is wings, But oh the strange wind sing, Of the tale, of the path, Of the sudden beauty, of the flight.

High in the sky the wild goose flies, Flies higher and higher, a shadow darkening the verge, The heart is a drum, a drum that breaks, And the wild goose goes on, on— Strange, wonderful in the clouds, lonely.

It is a winged thing—the heart of a man. I die for the wild goose, I die for the wild goose!

• D H Lawrence