Aerial Clouds, through heaven’s resplendent plains
Who wander, parents of prolific rains;
Who nourish fruits, whose watery frames are hurled,
By winds impetuous, round the mighty world.
Loud-sounding, lion-roaring, flashing fire,
In Air’s wide bosom bearing thunders dire:
Impelled by each sonorous stormy gale,
With rapid course along the skies ye sail.
With gentle gales your watery frames I call,
On mother Earth with fruitful showers to fall.