To budding May?—or in thy subtle screen
Nursest the lightnings that affright the world?
Or wert thou born of th’ thin aërial mist
That shades the sea, or shrouds the mountain’s brow?
Whate’er thou art, I gaze on thee with joy.
Spread thy wings o’er the empyrean, and away
Fleetly athwart the untravelled wilds of space,
To where the Sun-light sheds his earliest beams,
And blaze the stars, that vision vainly scans
In distant regions of the universe!