Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me,
I should be thy prey, and forge thine eaglet.
Thou art gone, where the eye cannot follow thee,
But thine yet pierces downward, inward, or above,
With a persuading vision so beautiful.
How beautiful, is all this visible world!
How glorious, in action and itself!
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns,
We half dust, half pollute, alike are unfit.
Rocking their alpine brethren, filling up,
The ripe green valleys with destruction's breath.
Damning the rivers with a sudden dash,
Which turned the waters into mist, and made,
The fountains die!
To sink or soar, with our mixed essence makes,
A conflict of its elements and breath.
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low, wants of lofty will,
Till our morality predominates,
And men are what they name not to themself,
A bodiless enjoyment, born and dying.
