Smoke by Henry David Thoreau — Read

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.