|Mute Swan at Fannie Stebbins Wildlife Refuge,|
Image © Quodlibet All rights reserved.
Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a swan;
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it,
Before that brief gleam of its life be gone,
An image of its state;
The wings half spread for flight,
The breast thrust out in pride
Whether to play, or to ride
Those winds that clamour of approaching night.
—W. B. Yeats (1865-1939), from “Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen”