On fluent wings as soft as smudges
The flying spirit diligently gauges
What is needed underneath
By peoples on the hills and heaths
O'er them she dutifully watches

She is the world. It's truest hope
Without her light I couldn't cope
She is more omnipotent than the pope
I'm tied to her with golden rope

I want to fly with her in cape
And feed her with a hundred grapes
Her light will scare a thousand kings
As her divinest music sings
O'er the sweet and sinuous moors