Like an embodied breeze at play!
Child of the sunlight!—thou wing’d and free!
One moment, one moment, I envied thee!
Thou art not lonely, though born to roam,
Thou hast no longings that pine for home;
Thou seek’st not the haunts of the bee and bird,
To fly from the sickness of hope deferr’d:
In thy brief being no strife of mind,
No boundless passion, is deeply shrined;
While I, as I gazed on thy swift flight by,