Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

The Fledgling

So, art thou feahered, art thou flown,
Thou naked thing?—and canst alone
Upon the unsolid summer air
Sustain thyself, and prosper there?
Shall  no more with anxious note
Advise thee  through the happy day,
Thrusting the worm into thy throat,
Bearing thine excrement away?
Alas, I think I see thee yet,
Perched on the windy parapet,
Defer thy flight a moment still
To clean thy wing with careful bill.
And thou are feathered, thou art flown;
And hast a project of thine own.

1. Whereas At Morning In A Jeweled Crown
2. The Death of Autumn
3. Sonnets 06: No Rose That In A Garden Ever Grew
4. Sonnets 05: Once More Into My Arid Days Like Dew
5. To Those Without Pity

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