| I am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky
|
| I pass throught the pores of the oceans and shores
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| I change, but I cannot die
|
| For after the rain, when with never a stain
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| The pavilion of heaven is bare
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| And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
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| build up the blue dome of air
|
| I silently laugh at my own cenotaph
|
| And out of the caverns of rain
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| Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb
|
| I arise and unbuild it again
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| I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and from the
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| streams
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| I bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noonday dreams
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| From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet birds every one
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| when rocked to rest on their mother’s breast as she dances about the sun
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| I weild the flail of the lashing hail and whiten the green plains under
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| and then again I dissolve it in rain and laugh as I pass in thunder
|
| I am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky
|
| I pass through the pores of the oceans and shores
|
| I change, but I cannot die
|
| For after the rain when with never a stain
|
| The pavilion of heaven is bare
|
| And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams build up the blue dome of
|
| air
|
| I silently laugh at my own cenotaph
|
| and out of the caverns of rain
|
| Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb
|
| I arise and unbuild it again |