The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—
Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
—Hart Crane (1899–1932)
In the wings the tenor hungers
For the heroine’s convulsive kiss, and Faust
Moves forward, no longer young, reappearing
And reappearing for the last time. The opera
Faust would no longer need its phantom.
On the bare, sunlit stage the hungers could begin.
—John Ashbery (b. 1927)
salamanders in the flame,
heraldic wings surround the name
English from Englisc from
Engle, Angle
from the Angles who settled
in Briton.
—Hilda Doolittle (1886–1961)