But no, you needs must part,
Fling him his release--
On whose ungenerous heart
Alone you are at peace.
IV
Not dead of wounds, not borne
Home to the village on a litter of branches, torn
By splendid claws and the talk all night of the villagers,
But stung to death by gnats
Lies Love.
What swamp I sweated through for all these years
Is at length plain to me.
V
Poor passionate thing,
Even with this clipped wing how well you flew!--though not so far as the forest.
Unwounded and unspent, serene but for the eye's bright trouble,
This part illustrates a bird being domesticated, and having its wings clipped, bringing us back to the theme of Loss of Hope.
Not So Far as the Forest