My head and tail both equal are, My middle slender as a bee. Whether I stand on head or heel Is quite the same to you or me. But if my head should be cut off, The matter's true, though passing strange Directly I to nothing change.
I am not found on any ground, But always in the air; Though charged each cloud with thunder loud, You can not find me there. Now, if from France you choose to dance Your way just into Spain, I there am seen, and near the queen, In hail, in mist, and rain.