When thou the sprightly dance dost lead,
When on the ground thou scarce dost tread,
In youthful beauty hovering light;
I read in every gazer's feature
The thought, thou art no earthly creature,
But wholly Soul, ethereal quite.

Yet this I fear: if, hence upborne,
Thou wert from earth for ever torn,
How wouldst thou, Soul, prepared be? —
Yet in the dazzling butterfly
O'er blossoms hovering, some could spy
A type of immortality!