It's hard to count what an air can do: It cannot buy one a shirt or shoe: It cannot bind a neat nest; find things For leaving the earth on floating wings: Nothing of twigs in it, nothing of roots; But something of rivers, a little of flutes That I've heard rippling a bodiless tune That caught me up in a small balloon, And took me high without writing a check; And let me down without breaking my neck: No affort at all: I was absent-minded: Don't even know now what the air or the wind did. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD SQUIRE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB A SPIRITUAL LEGEND by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY THE YOUNG THAT DIED IN BEAUTY by WILLIAM BARNES WATER MOMENT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |