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, 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, •V. I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, 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 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, I And the nursling of the sky: 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. I. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit Bird thou never wert, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. II. Higher still and higher, 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 unbodied 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 Of that silver sphere, 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, 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 Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view. XI. Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Makes faint with too much sweet these heavywinged thieves. XII. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth sur pass. XIII. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so XIV. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all divine. |