The sky was blue and smiling down
Upon a human sea;
Old Glory fluttered, danced and shone
In varicolored glee.
A merry breeze went laughing through
The laughing folds of silk
Until the red and white and blue
Were sylphs with teeth of milk.
Yet not for them the rapturous eyes
Of shouting crowds were bright,
Who came to hail with praise and prize
The hero winged for flight.
“The first to fly,” the challenge read,
“Shall win the wreath and cup.”
He spread his pinions and o’erhead
A dizzy height went up.
“Bravo! Bravo!” they shouted as
He spiralled down and down;
Then surged toward him in a mass
And wreathed him with the crown.
He smiled and in his eyes of blue
And on his cheeks of red
A something noble came to view
As gallantly he said:
“The cup I’ll keep, the wreath I’ll place
Where it by right belongs;
The first to fly my hand shall grace
And you acclaim with tongues.”
So saying towards his ship he stepped
And set the sails again,
Then in a rising circle swept
With sun-kissed face and plane.
They wondered when they saw him rise
Toward the streamered staff
Until he grazed its middle thrice
And cleared it with a laugh;
Until above its gilded ball
He steadied and from high
The trophy flung before them all
With practised hand and eye.
Upon Old Glory’s head the wreath
Fell true and with it fell
The airman’s words to those beneath
Who needed but their spell:
“The first to fly above our land
On wings that never lag
I crown with patriotic hand,
Our country’s starry flag!”
And then he doffed his cap and lo,
A jackie’s suit he wore
As circling still he cried, “Oho,
I’ve flown in peace and war!”
I rubbed my eyes and all was fled
Except the silken folds
Of Glory floating overhead
A sailor-boy which holds.