shakespeare sonnet to a bird

From where does thy trepid call emit

its high-born shrill upon mine ear?

Thy form is spied now floating as does a leaf 

or feather upon the tumbrous air.

With wings dipped in ink thou writest

tales of thy skill

and valour not matched by any circus acrobat

who awe can fill.

Prince of the marsh, now casting golden eyes upon his realm

with long shanks bearing talons cruel as the Moor's scimitar

that which the moor-hen does fear and more.

This splendant hawk goes down among the standard reeds

and, once down, does rise again

and hence,

does set the standerd in such deeds.

A toe is reached forth,

and scratching head whilst wings are spread

and tail fanned, held in thought

of sweeping after worthy sport-

Thou shall feast once more if careless coney

or tame vole

will not see,

the coming of thy destiny.