Ah, had I the wings now,
Wings of the mounting condor to clear the clouds,
Clear the heavy clouds and soar to the day-dying sun,
To the sun, beyond these streets,
To the sun, beyond this lash of the winter rains ...

But the day lags, binding me:
The day lags and my pent-up heart beats at its bars,
At its prison-bars beats, captive and dark.
Ah, had I the fire now, had I the joy now, had I the wings now
To clear the clouds of my rain-swept soul,
And soar in the heavens, sun-bathed.