A bitter, winter-hearted voice commands the Halcyons of Memory to fly far away. These calm birds of recollection offer a false spring that only mocks the speaker’s frozen, abandoned heart. Having left once, they return in vain. The gaze then shifts to the future, where vultures build their nests high in the towers of tomorrow. Not hope, but withered hopes and dying joys, choked by the dead, pile up as carrion for those scavengers. The mood is one of total emotional desolation. There is no wishful thinking, no softening of reality. The speaker refuses even the possibility of relief: memory is a lie, the future a feast for birds of prey. What remains is a stark, unflinching emptiness.
Lines — Summary
Far, far away, O ye Halcyons of Memory, Seek some far calmer nest Than this abandoned breast! No news of your false spring To my heart's winter bring, Once having gone, in vain Ye come again.
Vultures, who build your bowers High in the Future's towers, Withered hopes on hopes are spread! Dying joys, choked by the dead, Will serve your beaks for prey Many a day.