I
You who have sailed the seas in clipper ships
And seen the curled wave darkening the sun,
You know the canyon where the thunder dips
His wings, where the bright tent of stars is spun.
Vikings, contemptuous of flowery land,
With tall sails set against the austere cloud,
Past moaning buoys and the spinning sand,
You meet oblivion, alert and proud.
Yet roaring up are greater ships than these
That dared the perilous immortal tide—
Eagles that swoop among the stars like trees,
Winged gods that gain the zenith in a stride.
You who have sailed the seas, with fading eyes
Salute your masters in the morning skies!
II
Winter is rising in the north-all day
The sky has heard the rumor of his wings
Parting the freezing cloud like ocean spray.
There is no mercy when his sharp claw swings—
Grinding the amber leaf, turning the light
To whirling darkness, whiffing out the moon,
And sweeping down his path the cheeping flight
Of little birds that shall be silent soon.
Winter is rising-and his wings that bear
Storm from the frozen summit of his nest
Are stronger than your flesh. And yet you wear
A prouder plume than snow upon your crest:
Challenge that mounts the sky with fragile breath
And flings defiance to the gulf of death.
III
We climbed the steps of air with motor roaring;
We entered silver portals, still unknown
To princes of the world, where stars were pouring
Their clustered flames like torches over-blown.
All night we wandered through the lofty halls
Of cloud-a palace builded in a dream
From mist and moonlight on whose shining walls
Strange phantoms of the sky like pictures gleam.
Then, as the zenith in a jeweled spire
Began to sparkle, down the icy dawn
We slipped to earth, whose slowly kindled fire
In sombre light among the trees was drawn:
But for us who had climbed the steps of air
Unreal was earth and insecure her stair.
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