Classic Poem

Up through the air, over land, over ocean,
Swift let the storm of our legions be hurled!
Morn's rosy wand with imperious motion
Beckons us forth to the wakening world.
Onward, to play in
The billows that rove!
Onward, to sway in
The murmuring grove!
Beast and dull man may but hark to the roaring
Sound of our wings from some stifling den.
We, to the firmament freely upsoaring,
Come back to earth with our tidings again.