Of ripe perfection. But, alas! I saw
And envied the bold lightning, who could blind
And stai'tle nations, and I long'd to be
A conqueror strong to destroy, like him.
Methought it was a glorious joy, indeed,
To shut and open heaven as he did.
And have the thunders for my retinue.
And tear the clouds, and blacken palaces.
And in a moment whiten sky, and sea,
And earth: therefore I murmur'd at my lot.
Beautiful as it was, and that one murmur
Despoil'd me of my glory. I became
A dark and tyrant cloud driven by the storm,
Too earthly to be bright, too hard of heart
To drop in mercy on the thirsty land;
And so no creature lov'd me. I was felt
A blot where'er I came. Fair Summer scom'd
And spurn'd me from her blueness, for, she said,
I would not wear her golden fringe, and so
She could not rank me in her sparkling train.
Soft Spring refused me, for she could not paint
Her rainbows on a nature cold as mine,
Incapable of tears. Autumn despis'd
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