CLOUDS
Whence do you come, oh silken shapes,Across the silver sky?We come from where the wind blowsAnd the young stars die.Why do you move so fast, so fastAcross the white moon’s breast?The cruel wind is at our heelsAnd we may not rest.Are you not weary, fleeing shapes,That never cease to flee?The forkéd trees’ chained shadows areLess weary than we.Whither do you go, O shadow-shapesAcross the ghastly sky?We go to where the wind blowsAnd the old stars die.My head is circl’d with fire—And I think of the failing of one’s desire—And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain;Which is the greater pain?I yearn for the birth of the brain—Be it child of blood and pain,(I pray to endure the pain)—My heart—lo! my heart is afireWith hue as of purple or Tyre—With hope of Promethean fire—And oh God! God! God! the desireFor what only the Gods attain!In the white moonlight standWith every finger on a star, and feelInfinity as an engulfing wave.
Whence do you come, oh silken shapes,Across the silver sky?We come from where the wind blowsAnd the young stars die.Why do you move so fast, so fastAcross the white moon’s breast?The cruel wind is at our heelsAnd we may not rest.Are you not weary, fleeing shapes,That never cease to flee?The forkéd trees’ chained shadows areLess weary than we.Whither do you go, O shadow-shapesAcross the ghastly sky?We go to where the wind blowsAnd the old stars die.My head is circl’d with fire—And I think of the failing of one’s desire—And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain;Which is the greater pain?I yearn for the birth of the brain—Be it child of blood and pain,(I pray to endure the pain)—My heart—lo! my heart is afireWith hue as of purple or Tyre—With hope of Promethean fire—And oh God! God! God! the desireFor what only the Gods attain!In the white moonlight standWith every finger on a star, and feelInfinity as an engulfing wave.
Whence do you come, oh silken shapes,Across the silver sky?We come from where the wind blowsAnd the young stars die.
Whence do you come, oh silken shapes,
Across the silver sky?
We come from where the wind blows
And the young stars die.
Why do you move so fast, so fastAcross the white moon’s breast?The cruel wind is at our heelsAnd we may not rest.
Why do you move so fast, so fast
Across the white moon’s breast?
The cruel wind is at our heels
And we may not rest.
Are you not weary, fleeing shapes,That never cease to flee?The forkéd trees’ chained shadows areLess weary than we.
Are you not weary, fleeing shapes,
That never cease to flee?
The forkéd trees’ chained shadows are
Less weary than we.
Whither do you go, O shadow-shapesAcross the ghastly sky?We go to where the wind blowsAnd the old stars die.
Whither do you go, O shadow-shapes
Across the ghastly sky?
We go to where the wind blows
And the old stars die.
My head is circl’d with fire—And I think of the failing of one’s desire—And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain;Which is the greater pain?
My head is circl’d with fire—
And I think of the failing of one’s desire—
And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain;
Which is the greater pain?
I yearn for the birth of the brain—Be it child of blood and pain,(I pray to endure the pain)—My heart—lo! my heart is afireWith hue as of purple or Tyre—With hope of Promethean fire—And oh God! God! God! the desireFor what only the Gods attain!
I yearn for the birth of the brain—
Be it child of blood and pain,
(I pray to endure the pain)—
My heart—lo! my heart is afire
With hue as of purple or Tyre—
With hope of Promethean fire—
And oh God! God! God! the desire
For what only the Gods attain!
In the white moonlight standWith every finger on a star, and feelInfinity as an engulfing wave.
In the white moonlight stand
With every finger on a star, and feel
Infinity as an engulfing wave.