The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson
from my mother's poetry notebook
He clasps the crag with crooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson
from my mother's poetry notebook
