The Swifts 1

The swifts have no strength any more to retain,

To check the light-blue evening coolness.

It burst from their breasts, from their throats, under strain And flows out of hand in its fullness.

There is not a thing that could stop them, up there,

From shrilly, exultedly crying,

Exclaiming:

The earth has made off to nowhere,

O look!

It has vanished - O triumph!

As cauldrons of water are ended in steam When quarrelsome bubbles are rising - Look - there is no room for the earth - from the seam Of the gorge to the drawn-out horizon!