> Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth > And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; > Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth > Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things > You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung > High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there, > I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung > My eager craft through footless halls of air . . . > > Up, up the long, delirious burning blue > I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace > Where never lark, or ever eagle flew — > And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod > The high untrespassed sanctity of space, > Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. > > by John Magee, American father, English mother. > Killed flying a British Spitfire at age 19
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