He is so young and joyous, yet he bears The fate of nations on his shoulders now. His roaring Spitfire thunders up the sky To him the drone of engines seems a song. He rides the cloud pavilioned lists that lie Between earth's surface and the evening star His feats of arms are such as men have not Dared heretofore. His brief reports can vie With all the ballads of those knights and kings Whose deeds were red-hot news in Camelot. He has a threefold England in his charge The old world England we have loved so long And then the splendid England of today And, finally, the England yet to be We pass him in the street a knight who wears Not golden spurs, perhaps, but shining wings. By Greta Briggs
