The wind is still; from far and wide the air

Resounds with Sabbath bells, calling to prayer

And from the vast, unfathomable blue

Hums a propeller’s penetrating drone.

We stand enchanted, and our eyes pursue

An aeroplane, that climbs the summer sky

To drift alone

On mountainous clouds of ever-virgin snow,

Suspended like a black-winged dragon-fly,

That turning gleams,

Dove-grey and silver in the morning beams;

Or like a dead leaf, loosened from a height,

Spins in its perilous flight.

We catch our breath like children at a show

Of martial arts and heroic deeds,

On every glittering incident intent,

Forgetting for a time terrestrial creeds

For joy that man now rides the firmament.