.... the Kingdom of the Air

. +... THE KINGDOM OF THE AIR

Whose peacock cry bereaves those myrtle groves?

(One might unveil a murder, could one see

The thing one doesn't hear again? Did love's

Staccato knife strike forth such agony?)

A running echo answers trembling, moves

As though affrighted to record and be

The instrument to bugle soft reproofs-

Then silence goes ahead more silently:

Now stillness dwells among the shrivelled leaves,

Folding itself round every thing that grieves;

Not even ghosts can find their memories;

Nor even knives, prolonged to war with peace,

Pierce or resist the kingdom of the air,

Or make a lash close over its long stare.