A Black Wing on the Silver Leaf

A raven wing, fallen above the silver leaf Poplar,

(Over its wise crown, that overhead those would weep)

(No ray of sun to shine, on the spot turned to shade)

It’s drooping feathers spray along the steppe,

The silver leaf tree was dancing in cherry weather,

But this black cloud, will not let its merry keep;

And this freeing wing for the journeyed raven,

Is a shadow of once spirited flight,

That was struck down—too laden— with an old life;

The remains of its day, on the tree un-aging,

Whatever a craven wind has painted,

The White Poplar remains bold,

And it silver leaves unshaken