Herakles Archer

Morton Dauwen Zabel

A tense and whittled thundershaft he pulls
Within his supple crescent,
To send the bolt of death among the gulls
Or drop the pheasant.

The padding fox has heard the leather sing
Against his restless hand,
The swallow bends a slow and cautious wing
Above the hunter's land.
The stag with horny trees upon his brow
Has seen the arrow gleam,
The otter plunges to elude the bow
Under the stream.

For he alone is brave who bends the branch
And draws the fatal dart
To send a fire no blood can ever quench
Into the innocent heart.