Was it worth while to forego our wings
To gain these dextrous hands?
Truly they fashion us wonderful things
As the fancy of man demands.
But--to fly! to sail through the lucid air
From crest to violet crest
Of these great grey mountains, quartz-veined and bare,
Where the white clouds gather and rest.
Even to flutter from flower to flower,--
To skim the tops of the trees,--
In the roseate light of a sun-setting hour
To drift on a sea-going breeze.
Ay, the hands have marvellous skill
To create us curious things,--
Baubles, playthings, weapons to kill,--
But--I would we had chosen wings!