The eagle sweeps with outspread wings—and when
The crane pursues, high off, his homeward path,
Flying o’er watery moors and wide lakes lonely!
Flying o’er watery moors and wide lakes lonely!
Wagner. I, too, have had my hours of reverie;
But impulse such as this I never felt.
Of wood and fields the eye will soon grow weary;
I’d never envy the wild birds their wings.
How different are the pleasures of the mind;
Leading from book to book, from leaf to leaf,