And tempests round them fierce are driven,
Or rainbows span the arch of heaven.
The sky, the sky, now clear, now bright,
Now wreathed with folds of snowy white,
Now tinged with amber hues, whose glow
Is borrowed from the sunbeams flow,
Then on its ever-changing breast
Beam roseate streakings in the west.
And oft upon the sky I gaze
As in my childhood’s early days,