It's hard to count what an air can do: It cannot buy one a shirt or shoe: It cannot bind a neat nest; find things For leaving the earth on floating wings: Nothing of twigs in it, nothing of roots; But something of rivers, a little of flutes That I've heard rippling a bodiless tune That caught me up in a small balloon, And took me high without writing a check; And let me down without breaking my neck: No affort at all: I was absent-minded: Don't even know now what the air or the wind did. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VIOLINIST by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON LET NO BIRD SING by VERNE TAYLOR BENEDICT THE ROAD MENDERS by LAURENCE BINYON A PASSING OF FAITH by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE MEASURE OF TIME by ALICE CARY POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 20. THE WILL by GEORGE CRABBE |