And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move 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. III. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 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 21 VOL. III. From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, IV. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, V. I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, 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 roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow, [chair, When the powers of the air are chained to my Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. VI. 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, [gleams, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, [the tomb, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from I arise and unbuild it again. TO A SKYLARK. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. II. Higher still and higher, From the earth thou springest; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. III. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run; Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun IV. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad day-light Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, V. Keen as are the arrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. VI. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud; *Former reading, unbodied. As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. VII. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody VIII. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: IX. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: X. Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden |