Said the cloud, 'I am weary of flight
And the wind's imperious reign;
I will foil forever his might;
I will rest from striving and pain;
I will pass to the peace of night.'

And she sank in rain to the mead;
But her tears were life to the lands,
And she came as a voice to the seed,
And she came with weal in her hands
To the fainting flower's need.

In the secret caverns of earth,
In the groping veins of the soil,
She fashioned the dust of dearth,
In faith and vision of toil,
To the harvest of Autumn's mirth.

Her strength was holden and tried,
Her heart to service was true,
Till the roots of the grass were guide
To the day's remembered blue,
Where the winds of Spring were wide.

And she spread her wings to the sun,
And she rose again on the air,
Till her wings with the light were one
In a sunset strange and fair,
Where the winds forever run.