Flight - All Spondees

'Plane, take me by coach sky high - reach cold space. Race Sol's bright light beams westbound - beat night's shade. Make brain's mind glow like flambeau shines my face, fly me high so I might know globe's great grace. Green trees, gray slopes, wide plains, deep lakes we trace, These wholesale sights show wide view - they don't jade. We see white fleece shade piles while haze veils brace: Wheel ways, phone lines - those laid by roadwrights made.