| Towards the sun, towards the south-west |
| A scorched breast. |
| A scorched breast, breasting the sun
like an answer, |
| Like a retort. |
| An eagle at the top of a low cedar-bush |
| On the sage-ash desert |
| Reflecting the scorch of the sun from
his breast ; |
Eagle, with the sickle dripping darkly
above.
|
| Erect, scorched-pallid out of the hair
of the cedar, |
| Erect, with the god-thrust entering him
from below, |
| Eagle gloved in feathers |
| In scorched white feathers |
| In burnt dark feathers |
| In feathers still fire-rusted ; |
Sickle-overswept, sickle dripping over
and above.
|
| Sun-breaster, |
| Staring two ways at once, to right and
left ; |
| Masked-one |
| Dark-visaged |
| Sickle-masked |
| With iron between your two eyes ; |
| You feather-gloved |
| To the feet ; |
| Foot-fierce ; |
| Erect one ; |
The god-thrust entering you steadily
from below.
|
| You never look at the sun with your two
eyes. |
| Only the inner eye of your scorched
broad breast |
Looks straight at the sun.
|
| You are dark |
| Except scorch-pale-breasted ; |
| And dark cleaves down and weapon-hard
downward curving |
| At your scorched breast, |
| Like a sword of Damocles, |
Beaked eagle.
|
| You’ve dipped it in blood so many times |
| That dark face-weapon, to temper it
well, |
| Blood-thirsty bird. |
| Why do you front the sun so
obstinately, |
| American eagle ? |
As if you owed him an old, old grudge,
great sun : or an old, old allegiance.
|
| When you pick the red smoky heart from
a rabbit or a light-blooded bird |
Do you lift it to the sun, as the Aztec
priests used to lift red hearts of men ?
|
| Does the sun need steam of blood do you
think |
| In America, still, |
Old eagle ?
|
| Does the sun in New Mexico sail like a
fiery bird of prey in the sky |
Hovering ?
|
| Does he shriek for blood ? |
Does he fan great wings above the
prairie, like a hovering, blood-thirsty bird ?
|
| And are you his priest, big eagle |
| Whom the Indians aspire to ? |
Is there a bond of bloodshed between
you ?
|
| Is your continent cold from the ice-age
still, that the sun is so angry ? |
| Is the blood of your continent somewhat
reptilian still, |
That the sun should be greedy for it ?
|
| I don’t yield to you, big, jowl-faced
eagle |
| Nor you nor your blood-thirsty sun |
| That sucks up blood |
Leaving a nervous people.
|
| Fly off, big bird with a big black
back. |
| Fly slowly away, with a rust of fire in
your tail, |
Dark as you are on your dark side,
eagle of heaven.
|
| Even the sun in heaven can be curbed
and chastened at last |
| By the life in the hearts of men. |
| And you, great bird, sun-starer, heavy
black beak |
Can be put out of office as sacrifice
bringer.
|
| D.H.
Lawrence |
Classic Poems |
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