Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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CLOUDLAND. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
CLOUDLAND.
Cloudland,
Proud land,
Up above the earth so high
That the gates of Heaven seem nigh
As the lover and his sigh,
Cloudland;
And the bee with honeyed thigh,
Proud land,
Cannot ever come to thee,
Though he is so fair and free—
May not rise bejond the bowers
Of the flowers;
And the daintiest daring bird
Which the tallest tree has stirr'd
Shall not reach thy cities thus
With its powers;
Though thou dost descend to us,
In the beauty of bright showers.
But the crossings
And the tossings
Of thy towers that form and flee,
Cloudland,
Are a riddle known to me,
Proud land.
Proud land,
Up above the earth so high
That the gates of Heaven seem nigh
As the lover and his sigh,
Cloudland;
And the bee with honeyed thigh,
Proud land,
Cannot ever come to thee,
Though he is so fair and free—
May not rise bejond the bowers
Of the flowers;
And the daintiest daring bird
Which the tallest tree has stirr'd
Shall not reach thy cities thus
With its powers;
82
In the beauty of bright showers.
But the crossings
And the tossings
Of thy towers that form and flee,
Cloudland,
Are a riddle known to me,
Proud land.
Cloudland,
Shroud land,
Where the sunbeams climb and cling
And the shadows shelter bring
And the great sun's golden ring,
Cloudland,
Glimmers through thy silver wing,
Shroud land.
Ah, I know the hidden sight,
And the other side of light,
All the mystery and story
Of thy glory;
I have passed into the sky
Which the bee and butterfly
Cannot scale, the sunset red
Like a gory
Battle-field where hosts have bled,
And the sunrise calm and hoary.
Yes, the pages
Of the ages
And the future of the years,
Cloudland,
Lie beneath thy smiles and tears,
Shroud land.
Shroud land,
Where the sunbeams climb and cling
And the shadows shelter bring
And the great sun's golden ring,
Cloudland,
Glimmers through thy silver wing,
Shroud land.
Ah, I know the hidden sight,
And the other side of light,
All the mystery and story
Of thy glory;
I have passed into the sky
Which the bee and butterfly
Cannot scale, the sunset red
Like a gory
Battle-field where hosts have bled,
And the sunrise calm and hoary.
Yes, the pages
Of the ages
And the future of the years,
Cloudland,
Lie beneath thy smiles and tears,
Shroud land.
Cloudland,
Loud land,
When the thunders in thy deep
Bosom wake at last from sleep
And the silent watch they keep,
Cloudland,
O in sudden wrath they sweep,
Loud land!
I can read their writing dim,
As I hear the laughter grim
Of the old imprisoned giant,
Dark, defiant;
While he feels his centuried pains,
Fighting fiercely with his chains
In the agony of storm,
Pale and pliant
To the fretting of his form,
Bound but tameless and reliant.
And his fetters'
Lurid letters
Spell to me a judgment psalm,
Cloudland,
Like a legend on God's palm,
Loud land.
Loud land,
When the thunders in thy deep
Bosom wake at last from sleep
And the silent watch they keep,
Cloudland,
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Loud land!
I can read their writing dim,
As I hear the laughter grim
Of the old imprisoned giant,
Dark, defiant;
While he feels his centuried pains,
Fighting fiercely with his chains
In the agony of storm,
Pale and pliant
To the fretting of his form,
Bound but tameless and reliant.
And his fetters'
Lurid letters
Spell to me a judgment psalm,
Cloudland,
Like a legend on God's palm,
Loud land.
Cloudland,
Proud land,
I am only happy when
Fancy leaves this narrow pen
And the sordid strife of men,
Cloudland,
For thy grander wider ken,
Proud land;
All things then are as I live—
Only what I choose and give,
Every truth is of my making
Or my breaking,
Just a toy that lightly stands
For a moment in my hands,
And is the next moment gone
At the taking
Of the whim that hastens on,
And without the heart's least aching.
So my fancies
Weave romances
Of thy shapes, new earth and skies,
Cloudland,
Blessed sweet hypocrisies,
Proud land.
Proud land,
I am only happy when
Fancy leaves this narrow pen
And the sordid strife of men,
Cloudland,
For thy grander wider ken,
Proud land;
All things then are as I live—
Only what I choose and give,
Every truth is of my making
Or my breaking,
Just a toy that lightly stands
For a moment in my hands,
And is the next moment gone
At the taking
Of the whim that hastens on,
And without the heart's least aching.
So my fancies
Weave romances
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Cloudland,
Blessed sweet hypocrisies,
Proud land.
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