Wings are mine; above the pole Far aloft I soar. Clothed with these, my nimble soul Scorns earth’s hated shore, Cleaves the skies upon the wind, Sees the clouds left far behind.

Soon the glowing point she nears, Where the heavens rotate, Follows through the starry spheres Phoebus’ course, or straight Takes for comrade ’mid the stars Saturn cold or glittering Mars;

Thus each circling orb explores Through Night’s stole that peers; Then, when all are numbered, soars Far beyond the spheres, Mounting heaven’s supremest height To the very Fount of light.