Oh, what a weak, sporadic thing is man,
Burst forth upon life’s troublous sea!
Unasked he comes, unwished therefrom he goes,—
Oh, whither is his destiny?
I put my riddle to the flying breeze
That flurried past with airy wing;
My words were borne back on the fleecy clouds
Who laughed to scorn my questioning.
I asked it of the lordful mountain peak
Who lays his hoar face to the sky;