A little cloud, at sunset hour,
Came wandering through the sky,
And, kindled by the glowing west,
In flames it floated by.
The sun sank lower, and the cloud
Hung in his pathway bright,
Trembling with gold and crimson fire,
A coal of living light.
But when the last faint blush had paled
Before the winds on high,
The ashes of a little cloud
Were blown across the sky.