A Cloud

But were I thou, O ocean,I would not chafe and fretAs thou, because a limitTo thy desires is set.

I would be blue, and gentle,Patient, and calm, and seeIf my smiles might not tempt her,My love, to come to me.

I'd make my depths transparent,And still, that she should leanO'er the boat's edge to ponderThe sights that swam between.

I would command strange creatures,Of bright hue and quick fin,To stir the water near her,And tempt her bare arm in.

I'd teach her spend the summerWith me: and I can tell,That, were I thou, O ocean,My love should love me well.

But on the mad cloud scudded,The breeze it blew so stiff;And the sad ocean bellowed,And pounded at the cliff.

I heard a linnet courtingHis lady in the spring:His mates were idly sporting,Nor stayed to hear him singHis song of love.--I fear my speech distortingHis tender love.

The phrases of his pleadingWere full of young delight;And she that gave him heedingInterpreted arightHis gay, sweet notes,--So sadly marred in the reading,--His tender notes.

And when he ceased, the hearerAwaited the refrain,Till swiftly perching nearerHe sang his song again,His pretty song:--Would that my verse spake clearerHis tender song!

Ye happy, airy creatures!That in the merry springThink not of what misfeaturesOr cares the year may bring;But unto loveResign your simple natures,To tender love.

Dear lady, when thou frownest,And my true love despisest,And all thy vows disownestThat sealed my venture wisest;I think thy pride's displeasureNeglects a matchless treasureExceeding price and measure.

But when again thou smilest,And love for love returnest,And fear with joy beguilest,And takest truth in earnest;Then, though I sheer adore thee,The sum of my love for theeSeems poor, scant, and unworthy.

I will not let thee go.Ends all our month-long love in this?Can it be summed up so,Quit in a single kiss?I will not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds,As the soft south can blowAnd toss the feathered seeds,Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.Had not the great sun seen, I might;Or were he reckoned slowTo bring the false to light,Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.The stars that crowd the summer skiesHave watched us so belowWith all their million eyes,I dare not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.Have we not chid the changeful moon,Now rising late, and nowBecause she set too soon,And shall I let thee go?

I will not let thee go.Have not the young flowers been content,Plucked ere their buds could blow,To seal our sacrament?I cannot let thee go.

I will not let thee go.I hold thee by too many bands:Thou sayest farewell, and lo!I have thee by the hands,And will not let thee go.

I found to-day out walkingThe flower my love loves best.What, when I stooped to pluck it,Could dare my hand arrest?

Was it a snake lay curlingAbout the root's thick crown?Or did some hidden brambleTear my hand reaching down?

There was no snake uncurling,And no thorn wounded me;'Twas my heart checked me, sighingShe is beyond the sea.

A poppy grows upon the shore,Bursts her twin cup in summer late:Her leaves are glaucous-green and hoar,Her petals yellow, delicate.

Oft to her cousins turns her thought,In wonder if they care that sheIs fed with spray for dew, and caughtBy every gale that sweeps the sea.

She has no lovers like the red,That dances with the noble corn:Her blossoms on the waves are shed,Where she stands shivering and forlorn.

Sometimes when my lady sits by meMy rapture's so great, that I tearMy mind from the thought that she's nigh me,And strive to forget that she's there.And sometimes when she is awayHer absence so sorely does try me,That I shut to my eyes, and assayTo think she is there sitting by me.

Long are the hours the sun is above,But when evening comes I go home to my love.

I'm away the daylight hours and more,Yet she comes not down to open the door.

She does not meet me upon the stair,--She sits in my chamber and waits for me there.

As I enter the room she does not move:I always walk straight up to my love;

And she lets me take my wonted placeAt her side, and gaze in her dear dear face.

There as I sit, from her head thrown backHer hair falls straight in a shadow black.

Aching and hot as my tired eyes be,She is all that I wish to see.

And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear,She says all things that I wish to hear.

Dusky and duskier grows the room,Yet I see her best in the darker gloom.

When the winter eves are early and cold,The firelight hours are a dream of gold.

And so I sit here night by night,In rest and enjoyment of love's delight.

But a knock at the door, a step on the stairWill startle, alas, my love from her chair.

If a stranger comes she will not stay:At the first alarm she is off and away.

And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne,That I sit so much by myself alone.

Who has not walked upon the shore,And who does not the morning know,The day the angry gale is o'er,The hour the wind has ceased to blow?

The horses of the strong south-westAre pastured round his tropic tent,Careless how long the ocean's breastSob on and sigh for passion spent.

The frightened birds, that fled inlandTo house in rock and tower and tree,Are gathering on the peaceful strand,To tempt again the sunny sea;

Whereon the timid ships steal outAnd laugh to find their foe asleep,That lately scattered them about,And drave them to the fold like sheep.

The snow-white clouds he northward chasedBreak into phalanx, line, and band:All one way to the south they haste,The south, their pleasant fatherland.

From distant hills their shadows creep,Arrive in turn and mount the lea,And flit across the downs, and leapSheer off the cliff upon the sea;

And sail and sail far out of sight.But still I watch their fleecy trains,That piling all the south with light,Dapple in France the fertile plains.

I made another song,In likeness of my love:And sang it all day long,Around, beneath, above;I told my secret out,That none might be in doubt.

I sang it to the sky,That veiled his face to hearHow far her azure eyeOutdoes his splendid sphere;But at her eyelids' nameHis white clouds fled for shame.

I told it to the trees,And to the flowers confest,And said not one of theseIs like my lily drest;Nor spathe nor petal daredVie with her body bared.

I shouted to the sea,That set his waves a-prance;Her floating hair is free,Free are her feet to dance;And for thy wrath, I swearHer frown is more to fear.

And as in happy moodI walked and sang alone,At eve beside the woodI met my love, my own:And sang to her the songI had sung all day long.