Save where many a palace-gate I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rock'd to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fetter'd the thunder, Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea ; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream. And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning star shines dead. As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; 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, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march When the powers of the air are chain'd to my chair, The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, I am the daughter of earth and water, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 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 cenotaph, 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. AN EXHORTATION. CHAMELEONS feed on light and air; Poets' food is love and fame : If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever change their hue Poets are on this cold earth, Where light is, chameleons change; Yet dare not stain with wealth or power MUTABILITY. THE flower that smiles to-day All that we wish to stay, Virtue, how frail it is! Love, how it sells poor bliss For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy and all Which ours we call. Whilst skies are blue and bright, Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night Make glad the day; Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Then wake to weep. TO NIGHT. SWIFTLY walk over the western wave, Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, When I arose and saw the dawn, When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary day turned to his rest, Thy brother, Death, came, and cried, Thy sweet child, Sleep, thy filmy-eyed, Death will come when thou art dead, Sleep will come when thou art fled; |