Monday, August 22, 2011

Cloud poem from 9th class E/M


I bring fresh showers for the
thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the
I bear light shade for the
leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the
dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their
mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing
And whiten the green plains
And then again I dissolve it in
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the
mountains below,
And their great pines groan
And all the night 'tis my pillow
While I sleep in the arms of
the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my
skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered
the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with
gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii
that move
In the depths of the purple
Over the rills, and the crags,
and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under
mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in
Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his
meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes
Leaps on the back of my
sailing rack,
When the morning star shines
As on the jag of a mountain
Which an earthquake rocks
and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe,
from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve
may fall
From the depth of Heaven
With wings folded I rest, on
mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white
fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my
fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes
And wherever the beat of her
unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of
my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and
And I laugh to see them whirl
and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my
wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and
Like strips of the sky fallen
through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon
and these.
I bind the Sun's throne with a
burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle
of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and
the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my
banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a
bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through
which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air
are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft
colors wove,
While the moist Earth was
laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth
and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of
the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with
never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams
with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb,
like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.

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