The winged seeds， where they lie cold and low，
Each like a corpse within its grave， until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth， and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill：
Wild Spirit， which art moving everywhere；
Destroyer and Preserver； hear， oh， hear！
II
Thou on whose stream， mid the steep sky’s commotion，
Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed，
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean，
