The Black Swan by Randall Jarrell
I would go to the lake, at night, from milking:
The sun would look out through the reeds like a swan,
A swan’s red beak; and the beak would open
And inside there was darkness, the stars and the moon.
Out on the lake, a girl would laugh.
“Sister, here is your porridge, sister,”
I would call; and the reeds would whisper,
“Go to sleep, go to sleep, little swan.”
My legs were all hard and webbed, and the silky
Hairs of my wings sank away like stars
In the ripples that ran in and out of the reeds:
I heard through the lap and hiss of water
Someone’s “Sister . . . sister,” far away on the shore,
And then as I opened my beak to answer
I heard my harsh laugh go out to the shore
And saw – saw at last, swimming up from the green
Low mounds of the lake, the white stone swans:
The white, named swans . . . “It is all a dream,”
I whispered, and reached from the down of the pallet
To the lap and hiss of the floor.
And “Sleep, little sister,” the swan all sang
From the moon and stars and frogs of the floor.
But the swan my sister called, “Sleep at last, little sister,”
And stroked all night, with a black wing, my wings.
Julie Goucher ~ Anglers Rest 
That's a wonderful poem!
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The poem and stamp go together perfectly.
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Thank you for sharing a lovely peom that goes so well with this stamp.
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My goodness I'm having an educational Sunday Stamps session. I'd never heard of this poet. The poem seems reminiscent of Grimms or Hans Anderson fairytale. Oh, and nice stamp by the way.
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There is a black swan in Stratford that i am always looking for whenever I go there. I am still waiting for the perfect photo of him. I often think he must be so lonely, even though he has the other Mute swans for company.
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