O, to winnow the air with wings;
O, to float far above hurtful things—
Things that weary and wear and fret;
Deep in the azure to fly and forget;
To touch in a moment the mountain’s crest,
Or haste to the valley for home and rest;
To rock with the pine tree as wild birds may;
To follow the sailor a summer’s day:
Over and over a voice in me sings,—
O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings!
Softly responsive a voice in me sings,—
Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings;
Soon as the glass a second can count,
Into the heavens thy heart may mount;
Hope may fly to the topmost peak;
Love its nest in the vale may seek;
Outspeeding the sailor, Faith’s pinions may
Touch the ends of the earth in a summer’s day.
Softly responsive a voice in me sings,—
Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings.
National Museum, Florence.
Winged Mercury.
Raphael (Rome).
Mercury in his Chariot.