THE CLOUD

I AM a cloud in the heaven's height,

The stars are lit for my delight,

Tireless and changeful, swift and free,

I cast my shadow on hill and sea —

But why do the pines on the mountain's crest

Call to me always, “Rest, rest”?

I throw my mantle over the moon

And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,

Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,

I am a child of the heartless wind —

But oh the pines on the mountain's crest

Whispering always, “Rest, rest.”