In aire, dost–poise thou in His image–fly
Perfection! bronzed against Hyperion’s blaze;
Exalted! at thy nadir by His rays;
With mastery! dost thou hold thy piece of sky.

In aire, for thee, hath stopt all time; on high,
At perfect flexion, as His Son displayed:
Retract, and tense, ’til once thou deign obeyed
His gravity, that deign thou not defy.

Down! by His unseen force, to Earth art thrown;
Descend thou! as I gasp–thy devotee.
Thou! slicing air! perfection still outshone!
And twist! and roll! and turn! to all degree!
As fly thou through devoted hands alone
With thee, who hast so Godly kist the sea.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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