Smoke

Light-winged Smoke! Icarian bird,	
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight;	
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn,	
Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;	
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;	
By night star-veiling, and by day	
Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;	
Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth,	
And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.