205.
Ethereal thing, on unseen wing,
Through space my first is wandering;
It nothing sees, it nothing knows,
Yet all that’s known and seen it shows.
Brick, iron, mud, stone, reed, or wood,
My second in all climes has stood—
A lodge, a nest, where love may rest,
Or a prison, gloomy, dark, unblest.
Away on the bleak and desolate peak