Cloud

Today again from the east that thick black nimbus fares And Surban’s mountain-crest a dark-hued covering ears.

When the face of the sun was hid in the skirt of its misty course, A chill wind raced on the cloud as a horseman speeds his horse.

There is no rumble of thunder: the silence is thick as a pall: In the strange wine-shop of the heavens a quiet lies over all

It has ordered a scheme for the garden of joy that will always bless And has come to fasten a gem on the hem of the flower’s long dress.

The bloom that once had nodded in the heat of the sun’s fierce ray To fall in earth’s lap, it rouses from sleep to a lifting day

With the wind’s wild blast the nimbus grew to mounting and soaring mass, And towering still higher it showered the rain out over the grass

It has made for the mountain saplings their own miraculous tent. Here let them rest, the wanderers, who from journey in vale are spent.