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