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Peng Yong-di Male, 33, China (11/27/2004 9:01:00 PM)

I'm Chinese, who also is a learner of English as a second language. I have been interested in English Literature for one year, and loves poetry very much! I'v try to search it for you, and found out that Mary Oliver had written a poem named 'The Swan'.

The Swan

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 the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

here is the website: http: //poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp? poet=6771&poem=73924

You can check it yourself.
Maybe someother poets also have written the same tile.

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  • Rookie Peter A. Crowther (12/19/2004 8:27:00 AM) Post reply
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    She also wrote another poem also called 'The Swan': -

    The Swan

    Across the wide waters
    something comes
    floating—a slim
    and delicate

    ship, filled
    with white flowers
    and it moves
    on its miraculous muscles

    as though time didn’t exist,
    as though bringing such gifts
    to the dry shore
    was a happiness

    almost beyond bearing.
    And now it turns its dark eyes,
    it rearranges
    the clouds of its wings,

    it trails
    an elaborate webbed foot,
    the colour of charcoal.
    Soon it will be here.

    Oh, what shall I do
    when that poppy-coloured beak
    rests in my hand?
    Said Mrs. Blake of the poet:

    I miss my husband’s company—
    he is so often
    in paradise.
    Of course! the path to heaven

    doesn’t lie down in flat miles.
    It’s in the imagination
    with which you perceive
    this world,

    and the gestures
    with which you honour it.
    Oh, what will I do, what will I say, when
    white wings
    touch the shore?

    Pete Crowther

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