Ode To Summer Clouds Poem by George Hannibal Temple

Whence, O ye clouds! and whither do ye rove,
Borne on Aeolian wings through fields above
Of heaven's wide cerulean waste? Where lifts
My musing eye, thy passing vision drifts,
With silent awe, majestically along
The pathless firmament with stars o'erhung.


Thou, Cirrus! thou who sail'st ethereal high,
In silver labyrinths against the sky!
Or streamest along the blue a streaked train,
Like as enamel on the azure plain!
Canst ever thou, from that aerial height,
Withstand the mighty eagle's upward flight?
Doth God reveal in thee, by this thy form,
The onward coming of a distant storm?
Declare, O Cloud! declare why thus sublime,
Above thy fellow-clouds, thou soarest that clime?


O dread and solemn Nimbus! cloud unfurl'd,
That looks a mirage of the nether world!
Whose thunders above a thousand hills declare
Thy awful majesty in realms of air!
Methought thou rosest on the sky, then, soon,
Didst fall like midnight on the Summer's noon.
On a sudden, forth, with reddening glow and flight
Precipitate, sheer down the perilous height
Of ebon mass stupendous, darts thy long,
Empyreal lance, the toppling crags among;
And the accompan'ing peals of thunder rend
The darken'd heaven, whilst the rains descend.


And thou, vast Cumulus! to whom is given
To scale the awful precipice of heaven!
Whose vapors, proud as Doric columns, rise,
And, like Ruvenzori, salute the skies!
If yet propitious be thy fleeting shade,
Or when yon sun hath the meridian made,
Or when he slopes adown the Western blue,
To paint the racking clouds a various hue,
O rise! thou vain, elusive mist and fair,
Thou empty form resolving into air!
Rise thou a mighty aegis in thy sway,
Against the sheen of yonder orb of day!