  When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine: Such life my heart remembers In all as wild Septembers As this when life seems other, Though sweet, than once was mine; When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine. Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight, Or fills thy note's elation With lordlier exultation Than man's, whose faint heart sickens With hopes and fears that blight Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight. Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice; Though storm clothe seas with sorrow, Thy call salutes the morrow; While shades of pain seem hanging Round earth's most rapturous voice, Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice. Whose home is all the sea, What place man may, we claim it; But thine—whose thought may name it? Free birds live higher than freemen, And gladlier ye than we— We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea. For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight Than earth's in sunniest weather: When heaven and sea together Join strengths against the lonely Lost bark borne down by night, For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight. With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy, Thy tribe salutes the terror Of darkness, wild as error, But sure as truth, and prouder Than waves with man for toy; With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy. The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks; One moment's passion thrills it, One pulse of power fulfils it And ends the pride it utters When, loud with life that quakes, The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks. Keep heart and wing more high Than aught may scare or sunder; The waves whose throats are thunder Fall hurtling each on other, And triumph as they die; But thine and thou, my brother, Keep heart and wing more high. More high than wrath or anguish, More strong than pride or fear, The sense or soul half hidden In thee, for us forbidden, Bids thee nor change nor languish, But live thy life as here, More high than wrath or anguish, More strong than pride or fear. We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine; Who sing, and cease from flying; Who live, and dream of dying: Grey time, in time's grey fashion, Bids wingless creatures pine: We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine. The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale, As sways the songless measure Wherein thy wings take pleasure: Thy love may no man capture, Thy pride may no man quail; The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale. We can but creep and sing And watch through heaven's waste hollow The flight no sight may follow To the utter bourne beholden Of none that lack thy wing: And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing. Our dreams have wings that falter, Our hearts bear hopes that die; For thee no dream could better A life no fears may fetter, A pride no care can alter, That wots not whence or why Our dreams have wings that falter, Our hearts bear hopes that die. With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine Their lives, by time untarnished, Are girt about and garnished, Who match the wave's full metre And drink the wind's wild wine With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine. Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me, And take my song's wild honey, And give me back thy sunny Wide eyes that weary never, And wings that search the sea; Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me. Beachy Head: September 1886. |
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