The House Of Clouds

类别:文学名著 作者:伊丽莎白·巴雷特·勃朗宁 本章:The House Of Clouds

    I would build a cloudy house

    For my ts to live in;

    oo fancy-loose

    And too low for heaven!

    alk my dream aloud---

    I build it brigo see,---

    I build it on t cloud,

    to whee.

    Cloud-he mornings grey,

    Faced h amber column,---

    Croh crimson cupola

    From a sunset solemn!

    May mists, for ts, fetch,

    Pale and glimmering;

    ith a sunbeam hid in each,

    And a smell of spring.

    Build trance high and proud,

    Darkening and tening,---

    If a riven thunder-cloud,

    Veined by tning.

    Use one ain,

    For thin;

    turning to a sound like rain,

    As I enter in.

    Build a spacious hereby:

    Boldly, never fearing.

    Use the sky,

    he wind is clearing;

    Branch corridors sublime,

    Flecked airs---

    Suco climb,

    Folloheir own prayers.

    In test of the house,

    I will have my chamber:

    Silence at the door shall use

    Evenings light of amber,

    Solemnising every mood,

    Softemng in degree,---

    turning sadness into good,

    As I turn the key.

    Be my capestried

    ithe showers of summer,

    Close, but soundless,---glorified

    he sunbeams come here;

    andering harpers, harping on

    aters stringed for such,---

    Draune,

    it touch.

    Bring a sill

    From tnut forest,

    Bring a purple from the hill,

    is sorest;

    Spread t from o wall,

    Carpet-wove around,---

    shall fall

    In ligead of sound.

    Bring tasque cloudlets home

    From tide zenith

    Ranged, for sculptures, round the room,---

    Named as Fancy h:

    Some be Junos,  eyes;

    Naiads,  sources

    Some be birds of paradise,---

    Some, Olympian horses.

    Bring the birds shake off,

    aking in the hedges,---

    too, perfumed for a proof,

    From the lilies edges:

    From our Englands field and moor,

    Bring te in;

    o form a mirror pure,

    For Loves self-delighting.

    Bring a grey cloud from t,

    he lark is singing;

    Somet least,

    Unlost in the bringing:

    t shall be a morning chair,

    Poet-dream may sit in,

    leans out on the air,

    Unrten.

    Bring the sun

    c.

    t sh one

    Sidelong star to c,---

    Fit for poets finest t,

    At the curfew-sounding,--- ;

    t

    the seen, around him.

    Poets t,----not poets sigh!

    Las, together!

    Cloudy walls divide and fly,

    As in April her!

    Cupola and column proud,

    Structure brigo see---

    Gone---except t moonlit cloud,

    to whee!

    Let them! ipe such visionings

    From tel---

    Love secures some fairer things

    Doal.

    the sun may darken,---heaven be bowed---

    But still, unchanged shall be,---

    moonlit cloud,

    to whEE!


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