He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
One of the finest poems of all times about a bird of
prey. The stillness before the action, the movement
after observation – there is power in the poem’s
brevity.
From A Poem A Day: United Kingdom, Ireland & Continental Islands


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