Something about an albatross
Slipping between the waves on inches
Rigidly supple turning
Again and again
Or waiting like ungainly boats
For fish-heads among the gulls and other gripers
Yet aloof savants of windy whispers
Eyes of philosophers and mysteriously
Gone

I envy grace but not hunger
Oh to seem so still within a wheeling universe
To forget the strivings of some distant island
And be happy with scraps spread from tired hands
The illusion of freedom takes little account of the cold rain
Or other prizes
Seized far from dreaming eyes