Classic Poem

A swan on its own comes flying inland
Too lofty to prey on ponds of the weak,
And sees askance two lavish kingfishers
Nesting proud on a pearl-tree's peak:
Atop their treasure-tree, high as if mighty,
When don't they fear the bronze bullets' flight?
For wearers of wealth are worn down in the crosshairs
And grandeur will crowd the gods to spite.

And I now roam far beyond rage of men's eyes.
So what shall the fowl-hunter's heart now prize?