THE miracles are past, you say. Look in the eastern sky; Old Daedalus soars there to-day With his white wings on high, And Icarus follows after him On toward the golden sun. Swift on aërial tides they swim, Faster than horses run. They left the labyrinth below Their freedom to regain; Now past the mountain peaks they go, And down the clouded lane. If this was counted wonderful In Crete, for men to fly, We, then, should call it miracle When white-winged ships go by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE THE INCOGNITA OF RAPHAEL by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER CHANSON INNOCENTE: 2 by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS THE RIGHT MUST WIN by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER THE COMING AMERICAN by SAM WALTER FOSS |