A mountain spake to a sunny cloud,
"Whither, my child, away?"
"Father, the winds are calling loud
To fields of air for play!
Away! away!
Father, O father, solemn-browed!
Fly thou with me for play!"
Nestled half in a sunny snow,
And half in azure air,
The cloudlet, pausing, loth to go
And leave the mountain bare,
With hazy hair,
And misty feet in a sunny snow,
May not linger there;
Lithely curled in a merry breeze,
With look still turned to earth,
Wafted on viewless presences
From the mystic mount of birth,
With a merry mirth,
Summoning fondly as he flees,
"O father, leave your earth!"
Floating fair into sunny sky,
Evanishing away,
Praying the pine-veiled heights to fly,
Dark furrowed heights of grey;
"Away! away!"
"Our roots are deep, we may not die,"
Stern crags responded wearily;
Fly thou away,
O child of day!
The hallowing of thy sunny smile,
Thy fingers of cool mist,
Soothed my weary soul erewhile,
And since thy lips have kissed,
Lightning, blast, nor lashing rain,
Snows, nor howling hurricane
Mar my deep rest,
Remembering thy heavenly smile;
Fade thou away!
And leave me grey!"