From
Leaves of Grass, by
Walt Whitman:
Skirting the river road, (my
forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the
dalliance of the
eagles,
The rushing
amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living,
fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In
tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the
twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting,
talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm
pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.