Classic Poem

Here , in the field, last year,
I saw a seagull die,
Flying inland, for fear
Of change in the sky.

Seagulls six and seven
Flew inland, and cried.
And one fell out of Heaven
Here, and died.

I found no scar or stain:
He was white and gray, like smoke.
He flew, and was in pain,
And his heart broke.

Now, when I come this way,
I remember his beauty and pride,
And how from the hollow of day
He fell, and died.

Then, I too was proud;
I was angry to see death.
The hour, that was warm and loud,
Drew one cold breath.

Again the gulls are flying.
My heart, that then was a lover
Hot and high, is dying—
But the gulls fly over.