Amy Lowell (
1874-
1925)
from
Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (
1914)
Spread on the roadway,
With open-blown jackets,
Like black, soaring
pinions,
They swoop down the hillside,
The Cyclists.
Seeming dark-plumaged
Birds, after
carrion,
Careening and circling,
Over the dying
Of
England.
She lies with her bosom
Beneath them, no longer
The
Dominant Mother,
The
Virile -- but rotting
Before time.
The smell of her, tainted,
Has bitten their
nostrils.
Exultant they hover,
And shadow the
sun with
Foreboding.