Bird of Glass

FOR you Imagination, this wild bird,
Not in the hand is he yet captured fast
Who has escaped the lightest, subtlest word,
But he has come to brood and sit at last.

His motion is not flight, nor song his sound.
Suspended among silences and stillness,
This bird that you have held within your hand
Is now transformed after a mortal illness.

And turned to glass so he will never die,
But through transparent walls his joy discover,
So proud a stance, so delicate an eye
Forever praise, forever be your lover.