HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
              Bird thou never wert—
            That from Heaven, or near it,
              Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.   
 
              Higher still and higher
              From the earth thou springest
            Like a cloud of fire;
              The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 
 
              In the golden lightning
              Of the sunken sun,
            O’er which clouds are brightning,
              Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
 
              The pale purple even
              Melts around thy flight,
            Like a star of Heaven
              In the broad day-light
Thou art unseen–but yet I hear thy shrill delight,
 
              Keen as are the arrows
              Of that silver sphere,
            Whose intense lamp narrows
              In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see– we feel that it is there. 
 
              All the earth and air
              With thy voice is loud,
            As when night is bare
              From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams– and heaven is overflow’d