The Eagle by Alfred Tennyson

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
--Alfred Tennyson

Here's another poem I found in whatever class that was at BYU. I love the way this poem conveys the majesty of the eagle. Other than the title, the word eagle isn't used, and there's no description of the bird itself other than the two words "crooked hands." What we have is majesty by association. The eagle's lines are as sharply defined as a rocky crag, his feathers shine like the sun, he stands in sharp contrast against the blue sky. He is as changeable and powerful as the sea -- sometimes as still and immovable as a mountain, and then diving with the violence and speed of a thunderbolt. All the images are the sorts of things you'd find on inspirational posters, and the eagle owns them all.