Oh, I have slipped the surly bail bondsmen of Earth
And danced the skies on pilfered silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, towards the planet's girth
Of sun-spit clouds-to do a hundred things
You have not dreamed of-free stuff that soars, I'm charmed
High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there,
I'll chase past shouting beacons loud but unarmed
Guide my craft though countless points of law.
Up, up, the long, day turning black as coal,
I'll top the windswept heights with clumsy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle stole.
And, on the silent, hurting toes I've trod,
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, to lift the wallet of God.