WINGS.

Wings that flutter in sunny air; Wings that dive and dip and dare; Wings of the humming bird flashing by; Wings of the lark in the purple sky; Wings of the eagle aloft, aloof; Wings of the pigeon upon the roof; Wings of the storm bird swift and free, With wild winds sweeping across the sea: Often and often a voice in me sings,— O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings! 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. —Mary F. Butts.