The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the long leaves, the sky Is hard and high.

Under the October twilight the water Meets the sky; A line of greyish leaves hanging And a flock of wild swans fly.

Their feathers are white, Silent as a thought hovering abstractly In the azure, like a sigh.

And the smell of the autumn wind And the rustle of branches pry. Only a wild owl calls, a soft coo; What is it to the beauty of life?

I have looked upon those swans, With a melancholy heart in view; For I am unmade by thoughts Of the love, that died in winter’s new.

And cubless one The ones of the hummingbird’s who flew, Then flickering like wild swans, At dawn the quest for life anew.

• Edna St Vincent Millay