Explore "O Mystic Wings" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now, / Beyond life's faithful labour to a seat / Where I can feel the end of things complete, / Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow.
O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth / Makes atmosphere of purity and power; / 'Tis man's breath kills the spring's soft-petaled flower --
Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth.
Ye give a value for all loss in age, / When feebled eyes search for forgotten springs; / Ye fan the breeze that turns the moulded page,
And carry back the soul to ardent things.
Poor payment can I give, but here engage / I thee to be Love's airy equipage.