text: No question about it, I would choose flying. Can you imagine the feeling you would get soaring at will?! \n\n\nI caught this morning morning's minion, king-\n dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his   \n riding\nOf the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding\nHigh there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing\nIn his ecstasy! then off, off forth on a swing,\nAs a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and \n the gliding\nRebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding\nStirred for a bird, — the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!\n\nBrute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here\nBuckle! and the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion\nTimes told lovelier, more dangerous. O my chevalier!\nNo wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion\nShine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,\nFall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.\n                                                             -Hopkins, 'The Windhover'\n\n\nInvisibility? Cool for awhile I suppose, but nothing in comparison (I think!) to the 'hurl and the gliding' of flight. Let's face it, how many of us haven't had dreams about flying?\n\n \nI FLUNG my soul to the air like a falcon flying.	\nI said, “Wait on, wait on, while I ride below!	\n      I shall start a heron soon	\n      In the marsh beneath the moon—	\nA strange white heron rising with silver on its wings,	        \n          Rising and crying	\n      Wordless, wondrous things;	\nThe secret of the stars, of the world’s heart-strings,	\n      The answer to their woe.	\nThen stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!”	        \n \n    My wild soul waited on as falcons hover.	\n    I beat the reedy fens as I trampled past.	\n      I heard the mournful loon	\n      In the marsh beneath the moon.	\nAnd then—with feathery thunder—the bird of my desire	        \n          Broke from the cover	\n      Flashing silver fire.	\n    High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire.	\n      The pale clouds gazed aghast	\nAs my falcon stoopt upon him, and gript and held him fast.	        \n \nMy soul dropt through the air—with heavenly plunder?—	\nGripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew?	\n      Nay! but a piteous freight,	\n      A dark and heavy weight	\nDespoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled,—	        \n          All of the wonder	\n      Gone that ever filled	\nIts guise with glory. Oh, bird that I have killed,	\n      How brilliantly you flew	\nAcross my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you!	        \n \n    Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor,	\n    And I ride the world below with a joyful mind.	\n      I shall start a heron soon	\n      In the marsh beneath the moon—	\nA wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges!	        \n          I beat forever	\n      The fens and the sedges.	\n    The pledge is still the same—for all disastrous pledges,	\n          All hopes resigned!	\nMy soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find.\n                                   -William Rose Benét, 'The Falconer of God'