Daedalus

For centuries we could but dream of flying

With waxen wings that melted in the sun;

A hopeful youth, enraptured and then dying:

Pursuing freedom, and by it undone.

Then through hard work we made our wings of steel

And strapped them to huge motors to ascend;

No more a myth: a fantasy made real,

The full achievement of the longed-for end.

Then, being human, we could never rest

On the achievement of a miracle:

We took the triumph of this ancient quest

That turned what was fantastic to empirical 

And made it awful (as we use the word):

Uncomfortable, unpleasant, and absurd.