Then should I see the world outspread below,
Illumined by the deathless evening beams,
The vales reposing, every height aglow,
The silver brooklets meeting golden streams....
Alas! that when on Spirit wing we rise,
No wing material lifts our mortal clay.
But 'tis our inborn impulse, deep and strong,
To rush aloft, to struggle still towards heaven,
When far above us pours its thrilling song
The skylark lost amid the purple even,