The Mediadrome Search WWW Lines On Brueghel's "Icarus" by Michael Hamburger (1924 - ) The ploughman ploughs, the fisherman dreams of fish; Aloft, the sailor, through a world of ropes Guides tangled meditations, feverish With memories of girls forsaken, hopes Of brief reunions, new discoveries, Past rum consumed, rum promised, rum potential. Sheep crop the grass, lift up their heads and gaze Into a sheepish present: the essential, Illimitable juiciness of things, Greens, yellows, browns are what they see. Churlish and slow, the shepherd, hearing wings Perhaps an eagle'sgapes uncertainly; Too late. The worst has happened: lost to man, The angel, Icarus, for ever failed, Fallen with melted wings when, near the sun He scorned the ordering planet, which prevailed And, jeering, now slinks off, to rise once more. | |
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