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.
Pure majesty, both the poem and the bird. There's little for me to say, so I'll stop bleating already and let you enjoy the poem. Next you see an eagle, or any other bird of prey, I hope you can remember this poem.