4
THE CLIFF-TOP
The cliff-top has a carpet
Of lilac, gold and green:
The blue sky bounds the ocean
The white clouds scud between.
A flock of gulls are wheeling
And wailing round my seat;
Above my head the heaven,
The sea beneath my feet.
THE OCEAN.
Were I a cloud I’d gather
My skirts up in the air,
And fly I well know whither,
And rest I well know where.
As pointed the star surely,
The legend tells of old,
Where the wise kings might offer
Myrrh, frankincense, and gold;
Above the house I’d hover
Where dwells my love, and wait
Till haply I might spy her
Throw back the garden-gate.
There in the summer evening
I would bedeck the moon;
I would float down and screen her
From the sun’s rays at noon;
And if her flowers should languish,
Or wither in the drought,
Upon her tall white lilies
I’d pour my heart’s blood out:
So if she wore one only,
And shook not out the rain,
Were I a cloud, O cloudlet,
I had not lived in vain.
[A cloud speaks.
A CLOUD.
But were I thou, O ocean,
I would not chafe and fret
As thou, because a limit
To thy desires is set.
I would be blue, and gentle,
Patient, and calm, and see
If my smiles might not tempt her,
My love, to come to me.
I’d make my depths transparent,
And still, that she should lean
O’er the boat’s edge to ponder
The sights that swam between.
I would command strange creatures,
Of bright hue and quick fin,
To stir the water near her,
And tempt her bare arm in.
I’d teach her spend the summer
With me: and I can tell,
That, were I thou, O ocean,
My love should love me well.
But on the mad cloud scudded,
The breeze it blew so stiff;
And the sad ocean bellowed,
And pounded at the cliff.