The swan that sails in yon imperial sky—
Asks he if yet his wings, self-poised on high,
Shadow the subject plain?
Then wherefore sing?—Ask of the minstrel bird
Wherefore all night her plaintive voice is heard
Mingled with streamlets moaning ’neath the shade!
I sang—as man impulsive drinks the air—
As breezes sigh—as rivers murmur—where
They roam the silent glade.
Love, prayer, and song to me existence gave:—