The Birds-nester A Memorial, to an Unfortunate Young Man, Expelled from his University for a Daring Neologism

Critic, that hoary Gull, in air Whistles, whistles shrilly: Climbing Youth, beware Murder and mockery! That wheeling, hoary gull Bats on his thin skull, Claws at his steady eyes, Whinnies and cries: Youth flings the gibe back. Hundreds of wings clack, Bright eyes encircle, search For foothold’s fatal lurch. ‘See now he shifts his grip: Loosen each finger-tip! Whew, brothers, shall he slip?’ Crack-tendoned, answers Youth ‘I seek for Eggs of Truth.’ Claws clutch his hair, Beaks prick his eyes— ‘Whistle, Despair, Despair! With ancient quills prise Every hand’s—foot’s—hold, Wedged in the rock’s fold! Batter and scream, bewilder This impious babel-buil ... whew! Down he is rocketing falling twisting.’ For days and nights Time’s curly breakers Winnow him, wash him ... What is that stirs? What wing from the heights Slants to that murdered limb? Gull’s peering eye bath spotted Something the sea has rotted. Secretly to the feast Dives big gull, less, and least; For Age never dies: Age shall pick out his eyes, Taste them with critick zest, —Age knows the Best! —Age shall build his lair Out of his hair: Gulp his small splintered bones To his gizzard, for stones: Feed on his words All his young woolly birds. Say not he died in vain! All that he cried in pain Ear-cocked Age hearkens to Someday. Declares it true Someday. What though he fell? The jest Feathers old Critic’s nest.