Now have I left the world and all its tears, And high above the sunny cloud-banks fly, Alone in all this vast and lonely sky-- This limpid space in which the myriad spheres Go thundering on, whose song God only hears High in his heavens. Ah! how small seem I, And yet I know he hears my little cry Down there among Mankind's cruel jest and sneers. And I forget the grief which I have known, And I forgive the mockers and their jest, And in this mightly solitude alone, I taste the joys of everlasting rest, Which I shall know when I have passed away To live in Heaven's never-fading day. _Written in the Air._ _Three Triolets_ COLOURS. How bright is Earth's rich gown None but an Airman knows Yellow, and green, and brown-- How bright is Earth's rich gown! I see, as I gaze down, Its purple, cream, and rose. How bright is Earth's rich gown None but an Airman knows! THE SEA. Sad is the lonely sea-- So vast, and smooth, and grey It stretches far from me. Sad is the lonely sea! Its cheerful colours flee Before the fading day. Sad is the lonely sea So vast, and smooth, and grey! DISILLUSION. You mortals see the sky-- I only see the ground, As through the air I fly. You mortals see the sky, And yet with envy sigh Because to earth you're bound! You mortals see the sky-- _I_ only see the ground! _Written in the Air._ _Cloud Thoughts_ Above the clouds I sail, above the clouds, And wish my mind Above its clouds could climb as well, And leave behind The world and all its crowds, And ever dwell In such a calm and limpid solitude With ne'er a breath unkind or harsh or rude To break the spell-- With ne'er a thought to drive away The golden splendour of the day. Alone and lost beneath the tranquil blue, My God! With you! _Written in an Aeroplane._ _Autumn Regrets_ That I were Keats! And with a golden pen Could for all time preserve these golden days In rich and glowing verse, for poorer men, Who felt their wonder, but could only gaze With silent joy upon sweet Autumn's face, And not record in any wise its grace! Alas! But I am even dumb as they-- I cannot bid the fleeting hours stay, Nor chain one moment on a page's space. That I were Grieg! Then, with a haunting air Of murmurs soft, and swelling, grand refrains Would I express my love of Autumn fair With all its wealth of harvest, and warm rains: And with fantastic melodies inspire A memory of each mad sunset's fire In which the day goes slowly to its death As through the fragrant woods dim Evening's breath Doth soothe to sleep the drowsy songbirds' choir.