Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.
William CollinsRelated topics
air bat bear beetle horn hum midst now oft path pilgrim save short shriek shrill small sullen twilight wingRelated quotes
Old age is
a flight of small
cheeping birds
skimming
bare trees
above a snow glaze.
Gaining and failing
they are buffeted
by a dark wind -
But what?
On harsh weedstalks
the flock has rested -
the snow
is covered
with broken
seed husks
and the wind tempered
with a shrill
piping of plenty.
William Carlos Williams
