My dress is silent when I tread the ground Or stay at home or stir upon the waters. Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air Raise me above the dwelling-place of men, And then the power of clouds carries me far Above the people; and my ornaments Loudly resound, send forth a melody And clearly sing, when I am not in touch With earth or water, but a flying spirit.
White sheep, white sheep, On a blue hill, When the wind stops, You all stand still. When the wind blows, You walk away slow. White sheep, white sheep, Where do you go?