Society, friendship, and love, / Divinely bestowed upon man, / Oh, had I the wings of a dove, / How soon would I taste you again!
When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound.