I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall of snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
– Vladimir Nabokov
(Russian-American novelist, 1899-1977)
This is a snippet from Nabokov's poem "Pale Fire," which is not simply a "poem by Nabokov." Rather, Nabokov wrote the poem (999 lines) and embedded it in his novel Pale Fire, wherein the character of John Shade is the purported author of the poem.
For some reason this poem made a major impression on me from when I read the novel (I think in late 1980s), and certain lines have stuck in my memory. For that reason I have an interest in waxwings. Above right is a sketch I made of an imaginary species of waxwing.