The Lofty Sky
TO-DAY I want the sky,The tops of the high hills,Above the last man's house,His hedges, and his cows,Where, if I will, I lookDown even on sheep and rook,And of all things that moveSee buzzards only above:--Past all trees, past furzeAnd thorn, where nought detersThe desire of the eyeFor sky, nothing but sky.I sicken of the woodsAnd all the multitudesOf hedge-trees. They are no moreThan weeds upon this floorOf the river of airLeagues deep, leagues wide, whereI am like a fish that livesIn weeds and mud and givesWhat's above him no thought.I might be a tench for aughtThat I can do to-dayDown on the wealden clay.Even the tench has daysWhen he floats up and playsAmong the lily leavesAnd sees the sky, or grievesNot if he nothing sees:While I, I know that treesUnder that lofty skyAre weeds, fields mud, and IWould arise and go farTo where the lilies are.
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