Disillusion.

You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground,
As through the air I fly.
You mortals see the sky,
And yet with envy sigh
Because to earth you're bound!
You mortals see the sky -
I only see the ground!

Paul Bewsher

Paul Bewsher was an English poet and military aviator who gained recognition for his contributions during World War I. Born on September 3, 1894, and having passed away on April 14, 1966, Bewsher served as an observer and later as a pilot in the Royal Naval Air Service. His experiences in the war influenced his poetry, which often reflected the harrowing realities of aerial combat. Bewsher later pursued his career as a writer and his works are still remembered for their poignant depiction of wartime experiences.

Paul Bewsher

Colours.

Paul Bewsher, Simple Poetry

The Fringe of Heaven

Paul Bewsher, Simple Poetry

London in May

Paul Bewsher, Simple Poetry

A Fallen Leaf

Paul Bewsher, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Joy of Flying

When heavy on my tired mind
The world, and worldly things, do weigh,
And some sweet solace I would find,
Into the sky I love to stray,
And, all alone, to wander round
In lone seclusion from the ground.

Ah! Then what solitude is mine -
From grovelling mankind aloof!
Their road is but a thin-drawn line:
Their busy house a scarce-seen roof.
That little stain of red and brown
They boast about! - It is their town!

How small their petty quarrels seem!
Poor, crawling multitudes below;
Which, like the ants, in feverish stream
From place to place move to and fro!
Like ants they work: like ants they fight,
Assuming blindly they are right.

Soon their existence I forget,
In joy that on these flashing wings
I cleave the skies - O! let ...

Paul Bewsher

The Fringe of Heaven

Now have I left the world and all its tears,
And high above the sunny cloud-banks fly,
Alone in all this vast and lonely sky -
This limpid space in which the myriad spheres
Go thundering on, whose song God only hears
High in his heavens. Ah! how small seem I,
And yet I know he hears my little cry
Down there among Mankind's cruel jest and sneers.

And I forget the grief which I have known,
And I forgive the mockers and their jest,
And in this mightly solitude alone,
I taste the joys of everlasting rest,
Which I shall know when I have passed away
To live in Heaven's never-fading day.

Written in the Air.

Paul Bewsher

The Horrors of Flying

The day is cold; the wind is strong;
And through the sky great cloud-banks throng,
While swathes of snow lie on the ground
O'er which I walk without a sound,
But I have vowed to fly to-day
Though winds are fierce, and clouds are grey.
My aeroplane is on the field;
So I must fly - my fate is sealed,
And no excuses can I make;
Within its back my place I take.
I strap myself inside the seat
And press the rudder with my feet,
And hold the wheel with nervous grip
And gaze around my little ship -
For on its wire-rigging taut
Depends my life - which will be short
If it should fail me in the air;
Swift then my fall, and short my prayer,
And these my wings would be my pyre -
So well I scrutinise each wire!
Then out across the field I go
In shak...

Paul Bewsher

Cloud Thoughts

Above the clouds I sail, above the clouds,
    And wish my mind
Above its clouds could climb as well,
    And leave behind
The world and all its crowds,
    And ever dwell
In such a calm and limpid solitude
With ne'er a breath unkind or harsh or rude
    To break the spell -
With ne'er a thought to drive away
The golden splendour of the day.
Alone and lost beneath the tranquil blue,
    My God! With you!

Written in an Aeroplane.

Paul Bewsher

Clouds

'Tis strange to leave this world of woods and hills,
This world of little farms, and shady mills, -
Of fields, and water-meadows fair,
Upon some sad and shadowy day
When all the skies are overcast and grey,
And climb up through the gloomy air,
And ever hurry higher still, and higher,
Till underneath you lies a far-flung shire
All sober-hued beneath the ceiling pale
Of crawling clouds, whose barrier soon you reach,
And through their clammy vapours swiftly sail,
Their chill defences hoping soon to breach -
To see no skies above, no ground below,
And in that nothingness toss to and fro
Is no sweet moment - will it never cease? -
Climbing and diving, thrown from side to side, -
All suddenly there comes a sense of peace
And o'er a wondrous scenery we glide.

Paul Bewsher

Perception

While I have vision, while the glowing-bodied,
Drunken with light, untroubled clouds, with all this cold sphered sky,
Are flushed above trees where the dew falls secretly,
Where no man goes, where beasts move silently,
As gently as light feathered winds that fall
Chill among hollows filled with sighing grass;
While I have vision, while my mind is borne
A finger's length above reality,
Like that small plaining bird that drifts and drops
Among these soft lapped hollows;
Robed gods, whose passing fills calm nights with sudden wind,
Whose spears still bar our twilight, bend and fill
Wind-shaken, troubled spaces with some peace,
With clear untroubled beauty;
That I may rise not chill and shrilling through perpetual day,
Remote, amazèd, larklike, but may hold
The ho...

Peter Courtney Quennell, Sir