Classic Poem

The swan bears on its neck the initial of sleep,
and like a strange white dreaming sleep it passes;
but stranger is the cloud that goes on fire
in the grave sunset and the smiling dawn!

Cloud, visible wake of invisible wind,
thou swan at dawn, raven in the void of night;
cloud, akin to the celestial vane,
cloud, thou ocean and wave and foam and sail!

Cloud, be my protectress. Stoop in pity,
clothe in transfigurations all my doubting,
all the darkness that is in my mind.
As I have sorrowed let me shine, although
the storm wind gather that will strip me bare.