To a Cloud

Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair,Swimming in the pure quiet air!Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while belowThy shadow o'er the vale moves slow;Where, midst their labour, pause the reaper trainAs cool it comes along the grain.Beautiful cloud! I would I were with theeIn thy calm way o'er land and sea:To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and lookOn Earth as on an open book;On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,And the long ways that seem her lands;And hear her humming cities, and the soundOf the great ocean breaking round.Ay--I would sail upon thy air-borne carTo blooming regions distant far,To where the sun of Andalusia shinesOn his own olive-groves and vines,Or the soft lights of Italy's bright skyIn smiles upon her ruins lie.But I would woo the winds to let us restO'er Greece long fettered and oppressed,Whose sons at length have heard the call that comesFrom the old battle-fields and tombs,And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foeHave dealt the swift and desperate blow,And the Othman power is cloven, and the strokeHas touched its chains, and they are broke.Ay, we would linger till the sunset thereShould come, to purple all the air,And thou reflect upon the sacred groundThe ruddy radiance streaming round.

Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made!Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold:The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frownIn the dark heaven when storms come down;And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eyeMiss thee, for ever, from the sky.