My attire is noiseless when I tread the earth,
Rest in its dwellings or ride its waters.
At times my pinions and the lofty air
Lift me high o'er the homes of men,
And the strength of the clouds carries me far
High over the folk. My feathers gay
Sound and make music, singing shrill,
When no longer I linger by field or flood,
But soar in air, a wandering spirit.