The Joy of Flying

When heavy on my tired mind

The world, and worldly things, do weigh,

And some sweet solace I would find,

Into the sky I love to stray,

And, all alone, to wander round

In lone seclusion from the ground.

Ah! Then what solitude is mine —

From grovelling mankind aloof!

Their road is but a thin-drawn line:

Their busy house a scarce-seen roof.

That little stain of red and brown

They boast about!— It is their town!

How small their petty quarrels seem!

Poor, crawling multitudes below;

Which, like the ants, in feverish stream

From place to place move to and fro!

Like ants they work: like ants they fight,

Assuming blindly they are right.

Soon their existence I forget,

In joy that on these flashing wings

I cleave the skies — O! let them fret —

Now know I why the skylark sings

Untrammelled in the boundless air —

For mine it is his bliss to share!

Now do I mount a billowy cloud,

Now do I sail low o'er a hill,

And with a seagull's skill endowed

Circle, and wheel, and drop at will —

Above the villages asleep,

Above the valleys, shadowed deep,

Above the water-meadows green

Whose streams, which intermingled flow,

Like silver lattice-work are seen

A-gleam upon the plain below —

Above the woods, whose naked trees

Move new-born buds upon the breeze.

And far away above the haze

I see white mountain-summits rise,

Whose snow with sunlight is ablaze

And shines against the distant skies.

Such thoughts those towering ranges bring

That I float on a-wondering!

So do I love to travel on

Through lonely skies, myself alone;

For then the feverish fret is gone

Which on this earth I oft have known.

Kind is the God who lets me fly

In sweet seclusion through the sky!