The final glory of wings to the soul of man
In an order of life human, but divine,
Fashioned in carefulest thought, powerful but of delicate design,
As the wings of the aeroplane are.
Where spirit of man is used to the full, but saved,
As the petrol demon, in this dragon of war,
Uses and saves his power.
Where neither thought, truth, love nor gifts, nor any flower
Of spirit of man, so mangled or enslaved
In the eras gone, is wasted or depraved.