O THOU that cleavest heaven With such unmastered flight, To whom the fates have given For sport the sky's blue height; Where cloud with cloud is meeting, I see thy bright wings beating, And flashing and retreating Against the morning light! No toilsome task thou knowest, No day with tears begun, Lighthearted forth thou goest At morn to meet the sun; All day thy song thou triest From lowest note to highest, And all unweary fliest Until the day be done. Thou knowest no toil for raiment, No pain of mocked desire; The skies are thy song's payment, The sun thy throne of fire. Thou askest and receivest, And if perchance thou grievest, At will the world thou leavest On wings that never tire. Yet we of grosser stature Have in thy flight a part, We share thy tameless nature, We have a nobler art. When thou art tired returning, There mount in love and yearning, Toward suns of keener burning, The winged thoughts of our heart. Within our souls are folden The wings thou canst not share, We see a dawn more golden, We breathe diviner air: In sleep when toil is ended, In prayer with hope attended, We traverse ways more splendid, And see a world more fair. Yet oft, when day is gleaming On sleepless eyes, we vow We would exchange our dreaming To be one hour as thou! Such discontent we borrow, That we forget in sorrow We have the long to-morrow, Thou only hast the NOW. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD, 1770 by PHILLIS WHEATLEY MEDITATION AT KEW by ANNA WICKHAM MANSONG: CHORAL by MARCUS ADENEY ADMIRAL, HAIL! by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 14. 'I LOVE THEE' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE FORD OF TRANSFIGURATION by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |