I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
Uselessly roaming in the sky
O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour
Making me one with thy light
And thus I count months and years separated from thee

If this be thy wish and if this be thy play
Then take this fleeting emptiness of mine
Paint it with colours, gild it with gold
Float it on the wanton wind
And spread it in varied wonders

And again, when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark
Or it may be in a smile of the white morning
In a coolness of purity transparent