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 leanedinto the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,Biting the air with its black beak?Did you hear it, fluting and whistlingA shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfallKnifing down the black ledges?And did