Winds go streaming, shouting loud,
  At their play around the sky,
And my soul is like a cloud
  Blown about with them on high.

Like a hawk unhooded, she
  From my body broke away,
Longing for the company
  Of the winds at holiday.

So she scours the skiey plain,
  Wheeling, dipping in the blue—
Hawk-soul, cloud-soul, turn again!
  What's the lure to use for you?