  Wide fields of air left luminous, Though now the uplands comprehend How the sun’s loss is ultimate: The silence grows; but still to us From yon air-winnowing breasts elate The tiny shrieks of glee descend. Deft wings, each moment is resigned Some touch of day, some pulse of light, While yet in poised, delicious curve, Ecstatic doublings down the wind, Light dash and dip and sidelong swerve, You try each dainty trick of flight. Will not your airy glee relent At all? The aimless frolic cease? Know ye no touch of quelling pain, Nor joy’s more strict admonishment, No tender awe at day-light’s wane, Ye slaves of delicate caprice? Hush, once again that cry intense! High-venturing spirits have your will! Keen voyagers, while still the immense Sea-spaces haunt your memory, With zests and pangs ineffable. Not in the sunshine of old woods Ye won your warrant to be gay By duteous, sweet observances, Who dared through darkening solitudes, And ’mid the hiss of alien seas, The larger ordinance obey. |
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