'CALL down the hawk from the air; <br />Let him be hooded or caged <br />Till the yellow eye has grown mild, <br />For larder and spit are bare, <br />The old cook enraged, <br />The scullion gone wild.' <br />'I will not be clapped in a hood, <br />Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist, <br />Now I have learnt to be proud <br />Hovering over the wood <br />In the broken mist <br />Or tumbling cloud.' <br />'What tumbling cloud did you cleave, <br />Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind, <br />Last evening? that I, who had sat <br />Dumbfounded before a knave, <br />Should give to my friend <br />A pretence of wit.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hawk/
