"SINCE I HAVE WRITTEN STRANGE AND ARROGANT WORDS..."

Since I have written strange and arrogant words
in a warped age, leaning my head aslant
the clack and rustle of enormous birds,
the dry articulations of the ant,
to my and to my mistress' thought; but known,
and from within me known, the resonant
intensity of war that shouts them down;
and have been lover, malcontent, and clown:
the little feathers that eat anger grow
upon my hands and flutter at my lips.
The faces of the dead cried like a bell,
but in your stillness heaven shall turn homeward now,
beating the reeds with little water-drops;
and the taut spire be troubled in the well.