He grasps the bag with crooked hands;
Close to the cash that he demands,
Wrong'd by the lawful world, he stands.
The silent bank alarm now calls;
He watches cops outside the walls,
And like a culprit dolt he falls.
The Eagle by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:
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.
