The Song of the Gull

Oh, a master of effortless flight am I,
A dweller of the sky,
Where I wheel when the sunny skies are blue,
And motionless move the long hours through
O'er hamlet, field, and steeple high,
And the great white clouds pursue.
So, on and on, till I reach the sea,
Where the rumbling breakers play
And the winds blow free, and the heart of me
Is driven with the spray
To the far-off rocks where my fellows dwell,
With the buffeting winds at play.

—C.H.A.