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Show The Cloud. 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, WTien rocked to rest on their mother's breast, , As she dances about the sun. That orbed maiden with white fire laden. Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn. And whenever 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 swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built wind-built tent. Till the calm rivers, lakes and seas. Like strips of the sky fallen through me on hi?h. Are each paved with the moor, and these. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nuvsiy.g of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I can not die. For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare. And fhe winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of the air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph I arise and unbuild it again. Shelley. " |