Breath of man! a glass of thine own
Is the wind on the land, on the sea—
Joy of life at thy touch!—full grown,
Destruction and death maybe!
THE CRYSTAL SPRING.
I.
air spirit of the plaining sea,
Thou heard'st Apollo's lyre!—
Now folded are thy silver wings
Thee sunward bore,
A dream and a desire.
Ranging the upper azure deeps,
The sunlight on thy wings,
How blanched thy purpose as there fell
The lightning's stroke,
And darkness on all things!
In agony of rain and hail,
And phantom dance of snow,
The chastening angels of the air
To mountain bleak
Consigned thee far below.
There in the arms of heartless frost,
And burdened with thy train,
The keen stars watched thy ageful way,
Till breast of earth
Warmed thee to life again.