TO MY AIRSHIP
[The poet is being piloted on his aerial flight by a prosaic mechanician. It is to the latter that the interpolations are due..]
Thou elfin Puck, thou child of master mind!
(Look out! the ballast's slipping off behind.)
Thou swanlike Siren of the blue sublime!
(Screw up that nut, and never mind the rhyme.)
Thine 'tis to fathom Æther's highest pole!
(This wind will fairly get us in a hole.)