II.

I’m weary, I’m weary,—I’m off with the wind: Can I find a worse fate than the one left behind? —Fair beings of moonlight, gay dwellers in air, O show me your kingdom! O let me dwell there! I see them, I see them!—how sweet it must be To sleep in yon lily!—is there room in’t for me? I have flung my clay fetters; and now I but wear A shadowy seeming, a likeness of air.