After the fall

poem

Iris Shaw

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Daedalus’ hands all full of feathers were

On that day, molten in the dying sun

And up and down the waters went upon the shore

Never more

Ceaselessly, inhumanly, bereft

Of shame, the sea it moaned

And mourned, yet never gave;

Bore up the body on its tears

And cherished Icarus to the grave.

Empty now are Daedalus’ hands

And golden feathers beat upon the sands.