Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river? 
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air—
an armful of white blossoms, 
a perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned 
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies, 
biting the air with its black beak?

Did you hear it, fluting and whistling 
a shrill dark music—like rain pelting the trees—like a waterfall 
knifing down the black ledges?