Poems (Louisa Blake)/To the Clouds
TO THE CLOUDS.
Ye do not darkly roll, ye clouds!
Though mass on mass is piled so high,
Although your fleecy mantle shrouds
The melting azure of the sky.
Though mass on mass is piled so high,
Although your fleecy mantle shrouds
The melting azure of the sky.
Not darkly, for ye still retain
The vanish'd sun's last, lingering ray;
O, why may ye not thus remain,
Why must that splendor fade away!
The vanish'd sun's last, lingering ray;
O, why may ye not thus remain,
Why must that splendor fade away!
So soft the rays their tints diffuse,
As the pure light is richly shed,
It seems as if the lovely hues
Some seraph's glowing pencil spread:
As the pure light is richly shed,
It seems as if the lovely hues
Some seraph's glowing pencil spread:
It seems as if those clouds, so full
Of richness, had some heavenly birth,
That things so brightly beautiful,
Could rise not from our cold damp earth.
Of richness, had some heavenly birth,
That things so brightly beautiful,
Could rise not from our cold damp earth.
Ah! they are earthly, for the ray
Shines not so brightly as before;
Its beams are fading fast away,—
The last, faint streak is now no more.
Shines not so brightly as before;
Its beams are fading fast away,—
The last, faint streak is now no more.
Yes, it is gone! and darkness dwells
Where light in its pure brightness shone,
And my sad heart now sadly swells,
For its light moments too are gone.
Where light in its pure brightness shone,
And my sad heart now sadly swells,
For its light moments too are gone.