"The Eagle and the Mole" by Elinor Wylie is the latest poem I've committed to memory. A traditionally formal poem, immitation-Victorian maybe, a hint of Tennyson and Robert Browning maybe; not a finger-wagging admonishment exactly but a sort of moral-lesson poem . . . ; so it starts, but it seems to me that it concludes in a very strange place, which is what I like about it.