• When the light doth shine I feel the rays on my face
    Searing freely in air so sweet as wind howls in the streets.
    If I were to fly as high above the clouds as to be the envy of every bird,
    Would you believe it? Could I believe it? Could anyone doubt it?
    O, clouds, my friends, please hear my wish and carry me
    To your place in the sky, so far from my hand.
    And where are you, Ground? Below, my friend?
    You let me go to soar as high as I wish if that
    My wish may be?

    Alas, this reality weighs itself upon me
    Pressing me to walk under the sky and not above 't.
    Cursed reality! Would that I could escape to my dear dreams!