Harpoon was never wroughtBy which the Lord's anointedWill suffer to be caught.
Bird of the deathless breast,Fish of the frantic fin,That bright chimeric beastFlashing the argent skin,—If beasts like these you'd harry,Plumb then the poet's dream;Make it your aviary,Make it your wood and stream.There only shall the swishBe heard, of the regal fish;There like a golden knifeDart the feet of the unicorn,And there, death brought to life,The dead bird be reborn.
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