The Nuptial Flight 

 morning air rushes into her stigmata, 

 singing its song, like the blood of heaven, 

 in the myriad tubes of the tracheal sacs, 

 nourished on space, that fill the centre of 

 her body. She rises still. A region 

 must be found unhaunted by birds, that 

 else might profane the mystery. She 

 rises still; and already the ill-assorted 

 troop below are dwindling and falling 

 asunder. The feeble, infirm, the aged, 

 unwelcome, ill-fed, who have flown from 

 inactive or impoverished cities, these re- 

 nounce the pursuit and disappear in the 

 void. Only a small, indefatigable cluster 

 remain, suspended in infinite opal. She 

 summons her wings for one final effort; 

 and now the chosen of incomprehensible 

 forces has reached her, has seized her, and 

 bounding aloft with united impetus, the 

 ascending spiral of their intertwined flight 

 whirls for one second in the hostile mad- 

 ness of love. 



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