Herakles Archer

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.