Flowers of Evil (Shanks)/Elevation
above the valleys and above the meres,
above the mountains, woods, the clouds, the sea,
beyond the sun, beyond the canopy
of aether, and beyond the starry spheres,
o Mind, thou soarest easily and well,
and like a swimmer tranced in lifting seas,
thou cleavest all those deep immensities,
thrilled by a manly joy ineffable.
fly far beyond this fog of pestilence; fly!
go purge thy squalor in the loftier air;
go quaff the pure Olympian ichor where
clear fires fill the whole pellucid sky.
behind the cares, the dark anxieties
that on our sunless hours drag and drift,
happy is he whom sturdy pinions lift
in spirit, toward those fields of light and peace;
o happy he whose thoughts, unfurling wings,
leap skyward like the lark at morning's call,
— who soars above this life, resolving all
the speech of flowers and of voiceless things!