I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
from Pale Fire, Canto 1
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By feigned remoteness in the windowpane.
from Pale Fire, Canto 1
...Today I’m sixty-one. Waxwings
Are berry-pecking. A cicada sings.
from Pale Fire, Canto 2