THE FLIGHTIO wild heart, track the land’s perfume,Beach-roses and moor-heather!All fragrances of herb and bloomFail, out at sea, together.O follow where aloft find roomLark-song and eagle-feather!All ecstasies of throat and plumeMelt, high on yon blue weather.O leave on sky and ocean lostThe flight creation dareth;Take wings of love, that mounts the most:Find fame, that furthest fareth!Thy flight, albeit amid her hostThee, too, night star-like beareth,Flying, thy breast on heaven’s coast,The infinite outweareth.II“Dead o’er us roll celestial fires;Mute stand Earth’s ancient beaches;Old thoughts, old instincts, old desires,The passing hour outreaches;The soul creative never tires—Evokes, adores, beseeches;And that heart most the god inspiresWhom most its wildness teaches.“For I will course through falling yearsAnd stars and cities burning;And I will march through dying cheersPast empires unreturning;Ever the world flame reappearsWhere mankind power is earning,The nations’ hopes, the people’s tears,One with the wild heart yearning.GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY
O wild heart, track the land’s perfume,Beach-roses and moor-heather!All fragrances of herb and bloomFail, out at sea, together.O follow where aloft find roomLark-song and eagle-feather!All ecstasies of throat and plumeMelt, high on yon blue weather.O leave on sky and ocean lostThe flight creation dareth;Take wings of love, that mounts the most:Find fame, that furthest fareth!Thy flight, albeit amid her hostThee, too, night star-like beareth,Flying, thy breast on heaven’s coast,The infinite outweareth.
“Dead o’er us roll celestial fires;Mute stand Earth’s ancient beaches;Old thoughts, old instincts, old desires,The passing hour outreaches;The soul creative never tires—Evokes, adores, beseeches;And that heart most the god inspiresWhom most its wildness teaches.“For I will course through falling yearsAnd stars and cities burning;And I will march through dying cheersPast empires unreturning;Ever the world flame reappearsWhere mankind power is earning,The nations’ hopes, the people’s tears,One with the wild heart yearning.
GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY