With what thoughts are these wings set

Above the roar of the ocean’s estate,

Where toil and its twin once more regret

Deeming the sun the haven of an ingrate? 

For who but a fool would keep his course

With waxen wings above waves without end,

When the wider sky pledges a swift release 

From the ceaseless pelting of sea and wind? 

Shall he settle a silent shore that pleases him

Or forego the fecund arms of grassy leas?

For life is not life without flight or vim, 

Nor sleep restful when it is fed by ease. 

The shiftless step of stillness will stumble

As it drifts away from the darkened mirage.

Thunder cries and the columns crumble, 

Unveiling the horizon’s boundless visage.