Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,— The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. While the moist earth was laughing Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever should Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, 95 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the doth surpass. ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness 100 From my lips would flow, 65 |