Classic Poem

As we passed over Wales, below
Was nought but cloudtops white as snow.
With all the breath that man's lungs fills,
I spoke to the Dragon of the Hills.

I spoke to the Dragon of the Sky
And to the Dragon of the Sea
And hailed those drifting cumuli
As One personifying Three.

And should I, though I flew far higher,
Come nearer to the Heavenly Choir,
When like the slipstream's swirling flow,
The planet's local spaceward go?

Saint David guard the little streets;
Up here there's nought but air and ice.
In little homes are all the Paradise.
Pertaining to our Paradise.