The Cloud

THE ISLANDS called me far away,

The valleys called me home.

The rivers with a silver voice

Drew on my heart to come.

The paths reached tendrils to my hair

From every vine and tree.

There was no refuge anywhere

Until I came to thee.

There is a northern cloud I know,

Along a mountain crest;

And as she folds her wings of mist,

So I could make my rest.

There is no chain to bind her so

Unto that purple height;

And she will shine and wander, slow,

Slow, with a cloud’s delight.

Would she begone? She melts away,

A heavenly joyous thing.

Yet day will find the mountain white,

White-folded with her wing.

As you may see, but half aware

If it be late or soon,

Soft breathing on the day time air,

The fair forgotten Moon.

And though love cannot bind me, Love,

—Ah no!—yet I could stay

Maybe, with wings forever spread,

—Forever, and a day.