46 LUCY GRAY Not blither is the mountain roe: The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, Then downward from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed; And to the bridge they came. NATURE POEMS THE CLOUD I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, THE EAGLE Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 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 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 49 |