He fills the summer air with latent power,
He hides his venom in the scented flower,
He steals upon thee in the zephyr’s breath,
And festal garlands veil the shafts of death!
Where art thou then, who thus didst rashly cast
Thine all upon the mercy of the blast,
And vainly hope the tree of life to find
Rooted in sands that flit before the wind?
Is not that earth thy spirit loved so well,
It wish’d not in a brighter sphere to dwell,