Henry Charles Beeching (1859–1919)

A Boy’s Song

WITH lifted feet, hands still,

I am poised, and down the hill

Dart, with heedful mind;

The air goes by in a wind.

Swifter and yet more swift,

Till the heart with a mighty lift

Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry:—

‘O bird, see; see, bird, I fly!

‘Is this, is this your joy?

O bird, then I, though a boy,

For a golden moment share

Your feathery life in air!’

Say, heart, is there aught like this

In a world that is full of bliss?

’Tis more than skating, bound

Steel-shod to the level ground.

Speed slackens now, I float

Awhile in my airy boat;

Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,

My feet to the treadles fall.

Alas, that the longest hill

Must end in a vale; but still,

Who climbs with toil, wheresoe’er,

Shall find wings waiting there.