Like a Sparrow’s Swift Flight

It seems to me this present life, oh king,

compared to all the time we cannot see

is like a sparrow’s swift flight through a hall

where you are seated, feasting with your men

around a fire of a winter’s night:

the wind roars, snow and rain come down outside.

Flying in one door then out another

the sparrow will be safe from the foul weather

for the brief interval it is inside

but in an instant it is gone from sight

into the snow and darkness once again.

The longest human life is brief withal.

As to what comes before or after, we

cannot, with certitude, know anything.

Taken from “Exercises,” a poem by Bill Coyle

Read the whole thing on The New Criterion

0 thoughts on “Like a Sparrow’s Swift Flight”

  1. The reference is to a speech made by a missionary to the heathen Anglo-Saxons reported (if I remember correctly) by the Venerable Bede. The image of the swallow (flying in and out, not by the doors, but by the smoke-holes in the gables) was a familiar one to those who lived in the old feasting halls.

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