Tell me, Air-wanderer! in what burning zone
Thou wilt appear, when from the azure vault
Of our high heaven thy majesty shall fade;
Tell me, winged Vapor! where hath been thy home
Through the unchangeable serene of noon?
Whate’er thy garniture, where’er thy course,
Would I could follow thee in thy far flight,
When the south wind of eve is low and soft,
And my thought rises to the mighty source
Of all sublimity! O fleeting cloud,