My Cloud—To Scotta.
THERE’S a cloud on my life’s horizon
Of wonderful shape and hue,
Like the feathery down of a snow-drift
’Tis dimpled with changeful blue.
I gaze on its shadowy outline
And drink in the calm of the skies,
Till I fancy it floats out of heaven,
As an angel in disguise.
No slumbering storm in its bosom,
No hint of the lightning’s glare,
Only a feast for the heart and soul
Is this treasure of the air;
For I know from its silvery edges,
And glimpses of hidden gold,
That a picture of rare tranquility
Its tender depths enfold.
Else whence is this mystic feeling
Of peace that’s stealing o’er me?
Like the magic of summer moonlight
Enchanting a restless sea.
O! heavenly cloud! why are you
So calm? so angelic you seem,
My spirit escapes in its longing—
I am lost in a beautiful dream.
Up, up on the wings of a swallow
Piercing the heaven’s deep blue,
O’er meadow and mount I am rising,
And floating, sweet spirit, to you;
Onward, in trance I am wafted,
Now into the cloudlet above;
And a face smiles out from its drapery,
And ah! ’tis a face that I love.
