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 mother's breast,

　　As she dances about the sun.

　　I wield¹ the flail² of the lashing³ hail,

　　And whiten the green plains under,

　　And then again I dissolve it in rain,

　　And laugh as I pass in thunder.

　　I sift⁴ the snow on the mountains below,

　　And their great pines groan⁵ aghast;

　　And all the night 'tis my pillow white,

　　While I sleep in the arms of the blast.

　　Sublime⁶ on the towers of my skiey bowers⁷,

　　Lightning, my pilot, sits;

　　In a cavern⁸ under is fettered⁹ the thunder,

　　It struggles and howls at fits;

　　Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

　　This pilot is guiding me,

　　Lured¹⁰ by the love of the genii that move

　　In the depths of the purple sea;

　　Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,

　　Over the lakes and the plains,

　　Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,

　　The Spirit he loves remains¹¹;

　　And I all the while bask¹² in Heaven's blue smile,

　　Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

　　The sanguine¹³ Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

　　And his burning plumes¹⁴ 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 ardors of rest and of love,

　　And the crimson¹⁵ pall¹⁶ of eve may fall

　　From the depth of Heaven above,

　　With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,

　　As still as a brooding dove.

　　That orbed maiden¹⁷ with white fire laden¹⁸,

　　Whom mortals call the Moon,

　　Glides¹⁹ glimmering²⁰ o'er 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 tent's thin roof,

　　The stars peep behind her and peer;

　　And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

　　Like a swarm²¹ 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 bind²² the Sun's throne with a burning zone,

　　And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;

　　The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim

　　When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.

　　From cape²³ to cape, with a bridge-like shape,

　　Over a torrent²⁴ 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,

　　When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,

　　Is the million-colored bow;

　　The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,

　　While 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 dome²⁵ of air,

　　I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

　　And out of the caverns²⁶ of rain,

　　Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

　　I arise and unbuild it again.

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