A Houyhnhnm's Scrapbook/Number 1/First Flight

The day I first left earth behind
The sun himself was so unkind
As to depart with me.
Level with wings on which I rode
His radiant horizon showed
Air was a driving sea,

Hurling its waves on sun’s last cove,
Drenching his mountains black or mauve,
Parting his rolling hues
To pour in dark. An isle of rust—
No, pink—no, fawn!—was uttermost,
A beach I tried to reach and lost,
Adrift in grays and blues.

Pure passengers in a plane of bone
The eyes of my companions shone
Rapt in their cells, as nuns.
Experienced travelers, their eyes
Abstained from wondering enterprise
Of mine, or of the sun’s.

A staggering star had come aboard;
Except by me, he was ignored.
Obeying Star’s command,
I sent my eyes up, down, around.
I splashed my eyes upon the ground
Where they touched bottom and were drowned,
Two sunken lights of land.

When Atlas heads impressed a cloud
So hard, I heard it burst aloud,
Naive enough to care,
I looked at my companions, who
Read, slept, or talked, as if they knew
No Atlas heads were there,

But banking low above New York,
Where cloverleaf and highway fork
And bridge and towers were plain
Miracles traced in manmade light,
My comrades’ eyes were sore for sight,
And every neck must strain.

Oh, if I fly again, will I
Become so used to psalms of sky
And guidances of stars,
I keep my private cell until
I read the human codicil
In outlines of mechanics’ skill
And crawling lines of cars—?