"There's something in a flying horse…"

                    There's something in a flying horse,
                    There's something in a huge balloon;
                    But through the clouds I'll never float
                    Until I have a little Boat,
                    Shaped like the crescent-moon.

                    And now I _have_ a little Boat,
                    In shape a very crescent-moon
                    Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
                    But if perchance your faith should fail,
                    Look up — and you shall see me soon!

                    The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
                    Rocking and roaring like a sea;
                    The noise of danger's in your ears,
                    And ye have all a thousand fears
                    Both for my little Boat and me!

                    Meanwhile untroubled I admire
                    The pointed horns of my canoe;
                    And, did not pity touch my breast,
                    To see how ye are all distrest,
                    Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!

                    Away we go, my Boat and I —
                    Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
                    Whether among the winds we strive,
                    Or deep into the clouds we dive,
                    Each is contented with the other.

                    Away we go — and what care we
                    For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
                    We are as calm in our delight
                    As is the crescent-moon so bright
                    Among the scattered stars.

                    Up goes my Boat among the stars
                    Through many a breathless field of light,
                    Through many a long blue field of ether,
                    Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
                    Up goes my little Boat so bright!

                    The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull —
                    We pry among them all; have shot
                    High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
                    Covered from top to toe with scars;
                    Such company I like it not!

                    The towns in Saturn are decayed,
                    And melancholy Spectres throng them; —
                    The Pleiads, that appear to kiss
                    Each other in the vast abyss,
                    With joy I sail among them.

                    Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
                    Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
                    But these, and all that they contain,
                    What are they to that tiny grain,
                    That little Earth of ours?

                    Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth: —
                    Whole ages if I here should roam,
                    The world for my remarks and me
                    Would not a whit the better be;
                    I've left my heart at home.

                    See! there she is, the matchless Earth!
                    There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
                    Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear
                    Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here,
                    Like waters in commotion!

                    Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands;
                    That silver thread the river Dnieper!
                    And look, where clothed in brightest green
                    Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen;
                    Ye fairies, from all evil keep her!

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