  Wings that flutter in sunny air; Wings that dive and dip and dare; Wings of the humming bird flashing by; Wings of the lark in the purple sky; Wings of the pigeon upon the roof; Wings of the storm bird swift and free, With wild winds sweeping across the sea: Often and often a voice in me sings,— O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings! O, to winnow the air with wings; O, to float far above hurtful things— Things that weary and wear and fret; Deep in the azure to fly and forget; To touch in a moment the mountain’s crest, Or haste to the valley for home and rest; To rock with the pine tree as wild birds may; To follow the sailor a summer’s day: Over and over a voice in me sings,— O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings! Softly responsive a voice in me sings,— Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings; Soon as the glass a second can count, Into the heavens thy heart may mount; Hope may fly to the topmost peak; Love its nest in the vale may seek; Outspeeding the sailor, Faith’s pinions may Touch the ends of the earth in a summer’s day. Softly responsive a voice in me sings,— Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings. Sculpture of Mercury, balancing on one foot National Museum, Florence. Winged Mercury. Mercury seated in his chariot, which is drawn by two cockerels
Raphael (Rome). Mercury in his Chariot. |
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