Sun Image

The sun makes no shadows of leaf-shapes,

But photographs itself in perfect series

Of circled light on ground.

A pin-prick in a cloud

Prints a small sun upon an eagle's wing,

Haloes a pebble, spots the sea like a leopard.

Escape the mark of his mint, O mortal,

The brand of his tyrant iron, if you can!

This freedom, at least, the grave will give you.