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PercyBysshe Shelley : The Cloud

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
	From the seas and the streams;
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 motherís breast,
	As she dances about the sun.
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,
	And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night ítis my pillow white,
	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 sea;
Over the rills and crags, and the hills,
	Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
	The Spirit he love remains;
And I all the while bask in the Heavenís blue smile,
	Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
	And his burning plumes outspread,
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
	From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,
	As still as a brooding dove.

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
	Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering oíer my fleece-like floor,
	By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
	Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tentís 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,
	Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
	Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bin the Sunís throne with a burning zone,
	And the Moonís 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 roof,ó
	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-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
	Whilst 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 cenotaph1,
	And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the
		tomb,
	I arise and build it again. 

PercyBysshe Shelley (1792-1822)	1820

 
FOOTNOTES
1 monument erected to a dead person whose body is elsewhere
 

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