The Eagle

Eagle Eagle, sparking hot,
In the shadows of the dawn;
What inventive lung or hip,
Could hold thy cheerful mystery?
In what ancient space or sun
sparked the shadow of thine ribs?
by what force dare he award?
What the mouth, dare ride the shadow?
And what skeleton, & what pride,
Could mould the tendons of thy hand?
And when thy hand began to grasp,
What fair mouth? & what fair body?
What the iron? what the pierce,
In what furnace was thy chest?
What the stoker? what fair end,
Dare its severe passions pull!
When the suns threw down their rage
And stunned humans with their weight:
Did he laugh his toil to see?
Did he who fed the ant feed thee?
Eagle Eagle, sparking hot,
In the shadows of the dawn;
What inventive lung or hip,
Could hold thy cheerful mystery?

Crunch!