Rollo Britten

LEAVE the lovely words unsaid;

For another thought is fled

From my dream-entangled mind.

Bird of passion, unenshrined,

I can never phrase thee quite—

So I speed thee on thy flight,

Unembodied thus forever,

Floating in a mist that never

May be raiséd. Thou art one

Of the black-winged birds that run,

With uncomprehended flight,

Unimpeded down the night.