An aviator express the angelic freedom of flight, so much so that: “And, while with silent lifting mind, I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand… and touched the face of God.”
Some poems much better than others, High Flight is one of the coolest poems I have read. The most impressive thing is how young he was and how tragic his death was (died in a Spitfire when 19). Imagine what the world lost? How many other works would he have completed?