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it worth while to forego our wings To gain these dextrous hands? Truly they fashion us wonderful things As the fancy of man demands.

But—to fly! to sail through the lucid air From crest to violet crest Of these great grey mountains, quartz-veined and bare, Where the white clouds gather and rest.

Even to flutter from flower to flower,— To skim the tops of the trees,— In the roseate light of a sun-setting hour To drift on a sea-going breeze.

Ay, the hands have marvellous skill To create us curious things,— Baubles, playthings, weapons to kill,— But—I would we had chosen wings! 49