  O that these words of mine, Leaden and dull, Shone as your feathers shine, Swift-racing gull; Sped like your arrow-flight, Flashing between All the wide heaven’s light And the waves’ green! Is it the wind’s caress Bears you along, Your white wings motionless, Delicate, strong? No, in a moment more Down the steep air You shoot and whirl and soar, Effortless there. Facing the wind you go, Splendid and free, Dark on the sky you show, White on the sea. Now to the waves you swoop, Snatch at your prey— Smoothly you pause and stoop, And are away, While the sea’s rage is spent Leaping at you, Who make high merriment Up in the blue. Then to her calming breast That pulses still You will come down to rest At your wild will. O for the shining word Swift as the light, Showing you, gladdest bird, Angel of flight! THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH |
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