| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | V. On Startling Some Pigeons | | By Charles Tennyson (1808–1879) |
| | | A HUNDRED wings are dropped as soft as one, | |
| Now ye are lighted; lovely to my sight | |
| The fearful circle of your gentle flight, | |
| Rapid and mute, and drawing homeward soon; | |
| And then, the sober chiding of your tone | 5 |
| (As there ye sit, from your own roofs arraigning | |
| My trespass on your haunts, so boldly done) | |
| Sounds like a solemn and a just complaining! | |
| O happy, happy race! for though there clings | |
| A feeble fear about your timid clan, | 10 |
| Yet are ye blest! with not a thought that brings | |
| Disquietude; while proud and sorrowing man, | |
| An eagle, weary of his mighty wings, | |
| With anxious inquest fills his little span. | | | | |
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