The Roc that seizes us alive
Will carry us where worlds recede;
We fly where Mind the Raptor flies,
At fearful height and fiery speed.
We are the prisoners of flights
Of inarticulate sensation —
Distant music, transient sights —
The unexpressed, its cruel predation.
The Roc relinquishes his prey,
And frees the thoughts his talons capture;
Words escape from mute display,
Freed from a predatory rapture.
Gripped by the Roc, seized by elation,
The artist leaps, freed by control,
To find salvation in a goal,
In discipline a liberation.