Elinor Wylie

Nets to Catch the Wind Elinor Wylie

Say not of Beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood Her wild wings of a gull. Call her not wicked; that word's touch Consumes her like a curse; But love her not too much, too much, For that is even worse. O, she is neither good nor bad, But innocent and wild!Avoid the reeking herd, Shun the polluted flock, Live like that stoic bird, The eagle of the rock. The huddled warmth of crowds Begets and fosters hate; He keeps, above the clouds, His cliff inviolate. When flocks are folded warm, And herds to shelter run, He sails above the storm, He stares into the sun. If in the eagle's track Your sinews cannot leap, Avoid the lathered pack, Turn from the steaming sheep.