Thoreau & Beyond


Jones Very

The Eagles


The eagles gather on the place of death

So thick the ground is spotted with their wings,

The air is tainted with the noisome breath

The wind from off the field of slaughter brings;

Alas! No mourners weep them for the slain,

But all unburied lies the naked soul;

The whitening bones of thousands strew the plain,

Yet none can now the pestilence control;

The eagles gathering on the carcass feed,

In every heart behold their half-formed prey;

The battened wills beneath their talons bleed,

Their iron beaks without remorse must slay;

Till by the sun no more the place is seen,

Where they who worshiped idol gods have been.

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