LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight; Lark without song, and messenger of dawn Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and bloating out the sun; Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. |