The Cloud

Section six.

The Cloud.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean 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.

End of section 6 The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

if even i were as in my boyhood and could be the comrade of thy wanderings over heaven as then when to outstrip thy skyey speed scarce seem'd a vision i would ne'er have striven as thus with thee in prayer in my sore need o lift me as a wave a leaf a cloud i fall upon the thorns of life i bleed a heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed one too like thee tameless and swift and proud make me thy lyre even as the forest is what if my leaves are falling like its own the tumult of thy mighty harmonies will take from both a deep autumnal tone sweet though in sadness be thou spirit fierce my spirit be thou me impetuous one drive my dead thoughts over the universe like withered leaves to quicken a new birth and by the incantation of this verse scatter as from an unextinguished hearth ashes and sparks my words among mankind Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy.

O wind, if winter comes, Can spring be far behind? The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley read for LibriVox.org.

i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and the streams i bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noonday dreams from my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds every one when rocked to rest on their mother's breast as she dances about the sun i wield the flail of the lashing hail and whiten the green plains under and then again i dissolve it in rain and laugh as i pass in thunder i sift the snow on the mountains below and their great pines grown aghast and all the night tis my pillow white while i sleep in the arms of the blast sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers lightning my pilot sits in a cavern under is fettered the thunder it struggles and howls at fits over earth and ocean with gentle motion this pilot is guiding me lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea over the rills and the crags and the hills over the lakes and the plains wherever he dream under mountain or stream the spirit he loves remains and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile whilst he is dissolving in rains the sanguine sunrise with his meatier eyes and his burning plumes outspread leaps on the back of my sailing rack when the morning star shines dead as on the jag of a mountain crag which an earthquake rocks and swings an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings and when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath its ardors of rest and of love and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above with wings folded i rest on mine airy nest as still as a brooding dove that orbd maiden with white fire laden whom mortals call the moon glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor by the midnight breezes strewn and wherever the beat of her unseen feet which only the angels hear may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof the stars peep behind her and peer and i laugh to see them whirl and flee like a swarm of golden bees when i widen the rent in my wind-built tent till the calm rivers lakes and seas like strips of the sky fallen through me on high are each paved with the moon and these i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone and the moon's with a girdle of pearl the volcanoes are dim and the stars reel and swim when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl from cape to cape with a bridge-like shape over a torrent see sunbeam proof i hang like a roof the mountains its columns be the triumphal arch through which i march with hurricane fire and snow when the powers of the air are chained to my chair is the million-colored bow the sphere fire above its soft colors wove while the moist earth was laughing below i am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky i pass through the pores of the ocean 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 to a skylark By Percy Bysshe Shelley.

hail to thee blithe spirit bird thou never wert that from heaven or near it pourest thy full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art higher still and higher from the earth thou springest like a cloud of fire the blue deep thou wingest and singing still dost soar and soaring ever singest in the golden lightning of the sunken sun o'er which clouds are brightening thou dost float and run like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun the pale purple even melts around thy flight like a star of heaven in the broad daylight thou art unseen but yet i hear thy shrill delight keen as are the arrows of that silver sphere whose intense lamp narrows in the white dawn clear until we hardly see we feel that it is there all the earth and air with thy voices loud as when night is bare from one lonely cloud the moon rains out her beams and heaven is overflowed what thou art we know not what is most like thee from rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see as from thy presence showers a rain of melody like a poet hidden in the light of thought singing hymns unbidden till the world is wrought to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not like a high-born maiden in a palace tower soothing her love-laden soul in secret hour with music sweet as love which overflows her bower like a glow-worm golden in a dell of dew scattering unbeholden its aerial hue among the flowers and grass which green it from the view like a rose embowered in its own green leaves by warm winds deflowered till the scent it gives makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves sound of vernal showers on the twinkling grass rain awakened flowers all that ever was joyous and clear and fresh thy music doth surpass teach us sprite or bird what sweet thoughts are thine i have never heard praise of love or wine that panted forth a flood of rapture so divine chorus hymeneal or triumphal chaunt matched with thine would be all but an empty vaunt a thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want what objects are the fountains of thy happy strain what fields or waves or mountains what shapes of sky or plain what love of thine own kind what ignorance of pain with thy clear keen joyance languor cannot be shadow of annoyance never came near thee thou lovest but ne'er knew love's sad satiety waking or asleep thou of death must deem things more true and deep than we mortals dream or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream we look before and after and pine for what is not our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought yet if we could scorn hate and pride and fear if we were things born not to shed a tear i know not how thy joy we ever should come near better than all measures of delightful sound better than all treasures that in books are found thy skill to poet were thou scorner of the ground teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know such harmonious madness from my lips would flow the world should listen then as i am listening now chorus from hellas the world's great age begins anew the golden years return the earth doth like a snake renew her winter weeds outworn heaven's smiles and fates and empires gleam like wrecks of a dissolving dream a brighter hellas rears its mountains from waves serener far a new peneus rolls his fountains against the morning star where fairer tempes bloom their sleep young cyclades on a sunnier deep a loftier argo cleaves the main fraught with a later prize another orpheus sings again and loves and weeps and dies a new ulysses leaves once more calypso for his native shore o write no more the tale of troy if earth death's scroll must be nor mix with laon rage the joy which dawns upon the free although a subtler sphinx renew riddles of death thebes never knew another athens shall arise and to remoter time bequeath like sunset to the skies the splendor of its prime and leave if naught so bright may live all earth can take or heaven can give saturn and love their long repose shall burst more bright and good than all who fell than one who rose than many unsubdued not gold not blood their altar dowers but votive tears and symbol flowers o cease must hate and death return cease must men kill and die cease drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy the world is weary of the past o might it die or rest at last End of poem.

on thy cold gray stones o sea and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me o well for the fisherman's boy that he shouts with his sister at play o well for the sailor lad that he sings in his boat on the bay and the stately ships go on to their haven under the hill but oh for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still break break break at the foot of thy crags o sea but the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me End of poem.

This recording is in the public domain.

tears idle tears i know not what they mean tears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the eyes in looking on the happy autumn fields and thinking of the days that are no more fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail that brings our friends up from the underworld sad as the last which reddens over one that sinks with all we love below the verge so sad so fresh the days that are no more ah sad and strange as in dark summer dawns the earliest pipe of half-awakened birds to dying hears when unto dying eyes the casement slowly grows a glimmering square so sad so strange the days that are no more dear as remembered kisses after death and sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for others deep as love deep as first love and wild with all regret o death in life the days that are no more song from the princess two by lord tennyson ask me no more the moon may draw the sea the cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape with fold to fold of mountain or of cape but o too fond when have i answered thee ask me no more ask me no more what answer should i give i love not hollow cheek or faded eye yet o my friend i will not have thee die ask me no more lest i should bid thee live ask me no more Ask me no more.

Thy fate and mine are sealed.

This recording is in the public domain.

tears idle tears i know not what they mean tears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the eyes in looking on the happy autumn fields and thinking of the days that are no more fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail that brings our friends up from the underworld sad as the last which reddens over one that sinks with all we love below the verge so sad so fresh the days that are no more ah sad and strange as in dark summer dawns the earliest pipe of half-awakened birds to dying hears when unto dying eyes the casement slowly grows a glimmering square so sad so strange the days that are no more dear as remembered kisses after death and sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for others deep as love deep as first love and wild with all regret o death in life the days that are no more song from the princess two by lord tennyson ask me no more the moon may draw the sea the cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape with fold to fold of mountain or of cape but o too fond when have i answered thee ask me no more ask me no more what answer should i give i love not hollow cheek or faded eye yet o my friend i will not have thee die ask me no more lest i should bid thee live ask me no more Ask me no more.

Thy fate and mine are sealed.

I strove against the stream and all in vain.

This recording is in the public domain.

o wild west wind thou breath of autumn's being thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing yellow and black and pale and hectic red pestilence-stricken multitudes o thou who chariotest to their dark wintry bed the winged seeds where they lie cold and low each like a corpse within its grave until thine azure sister of the spring shall blow her clarion o'er the dreaming earth and fill driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air with living hues and odors plain and hill wild spirit which art moving everywhere destroyer and preserver hear o hear thou on whose stream mid the steep skies commotion loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed shock from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean angels of rain and lightning there are spread on the blue surface of thine airy surge like the bright hair uplifted from the head of some fierce menad even from the dim verge of the horizon to the zenith's height the locks of the approaching storm thou dirge of the dying year to which this closing night will be the dome of a vast sepulchre vaulted with all thy congregated might of vapours from whose solid atmosphere black rain and fire and hail will burst o hear thou who didst waken from his summer dreams the blue mediterranean where he lay lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams beside a pumice isle in baie's bay and saw in sleep old palaces and towers quivering within the waves in tenser day all overgrown with azure moss and flowers so sweet the sense faints picturing them thou for whose path the atlantic's level powers cleave themselves into chasms while far below the sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear the sapless foliage of the ocean know thy voice and suddenly grow gray with fear and tremble and despoil themselves oh hear if i were a dead leaf thou mightest bear if i were a swift cloud to fly with thee a wave to pant beneath thy power and share the impulse of thy strength only less free than thou o uncontrollable if even i were as in my boyhood and could be the comrade of thy wanderings over heaven as then when to outstrip thy skyey speed scarce seem'd a vision i would ne'er have striven as thus with thee in prayer in my sore need o lift me as a wave a leaf a cloud i fall upon the thorns of life i bleed a heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed one too like thee tameless and swift and proud make me thy lyre even as the forest is what if my leaves are falling like its own the tumult of thy mighty harmonies will take from both a deep autumnal tone sweet though in sadness be thou spirit fierce my spirit be thou me impetuous one drive my dead thoughts over the universe like withered leaves to quicken a new birth and by the incantation of this verse scatter as from an unextinguished hearth ashes and sparks my words among mankind be through my lips to unawakened earth the trumpet of a prophecy o wind if winter comes can spring be far behind The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Read for LibriVox.org. i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and the streams i bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noonday dreams from my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds every one when rocked to rest on their mother's breast as she dances about the sun i wield the flail of the lashing hail and whiten the green plains under and then again i dissolve it in rain and laugh as i pass in thunder i sift the snow on the mountains below and their great pines grown aghast and all the night tis my pillow white while i sleep in the arms of the blast sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers lightning my pilot sits in a cavern under is fettered the thunder it struggles and howls at fits over earth and ocean with gentle motion this pilot is guiding me lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea over the rills and the crags and the hills over the lakes and the plains wherever he dream under mountain or stream the spirit he loves remains and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile whilst he is dissolving in rains the sanguine sunrise with his meatier eyes and his burning plumes outspread leaps on the back of my sailing rack when the morning star shines dead as on the jag of a mountain crag which an earthquake rocks and swings an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings and when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath its ardors of rest and of love and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above with wings folded i rest on mine airy nest as still as a brooding dove that orbd maiden with white fire laden whom mortals call the moon glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor by the midnight breezes strewn and wherever the beat of her unseen feet which only the angels hear may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof the stars peep behind her and peer and i laugh to see them whirl and flee like a swarm of golden bees when i widen the rent in my wind-built tent till the calm rivers lakes and seas like strips of the sky fallen through me on high are each paved with the moon and these i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone and the moon's with a girdle of pearl the volcanoes are dim and the stars reel and swim when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl from cape to cape with a bridge-like shape over a torrent see sunbeam proof i hang like a roof the mountains its columns be the triumphal arch through which i march with hurricane fire and snow when the powers of the air are chained to my chair is the million-colored bow the sphere fire above its soft colors wove while the moist earth was laughing below i am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky i pass through the pores of the ocean 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 to

a skylark

Ask me no more.

The moon may draw the sea.

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape with fold to fold of mountain or of cape.

But, O too fond, when have I answered thee? Ask me no more.

If even I were, as in my boyhood, and could be the comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, as then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed, scarce seemed a vision, I would ne'er have striven as thus with thee in prayer, in my sore need.

oh lift me as a wave a leaf a cloud i fall upon the thorns of life i bleed a heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed one too like thee tameless and swift and proud make me thy lyre even as the forest is what if my leaves are falling like its own the tumult of thy mighty harmonies will take from both a deep autumnal tone sweet though in sadness be thou spirit fierce my spirit be thou me impetuous one drive my dead thoughts over the universe like withered leaves to quicken a new birth and by the incantation of this verse scatter as from an unextinguished hearth ashes and sparks my words among mankind be through my lips to unawakened earth the trumpet of a prophecy o wind if winter comes can spring be far behind The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Read for LibriVox.org. i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and the streams i bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noonday dreams from my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds every one when rocked to rest on their mother's breast as she dances about the sun i wield the flail of the lashing hail and whiten the green plains under and then again i dissolve it in rain and laugh as i pass in thunder i sift the snow on the mountains below and their great pines grown aghast and all the night tis my pillow white while i sleep in the arms of the blast sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers lightning my pilot sits in a cavern under is fettered the thunder it struggles and howls at fits over earth and ocean with gentle motion this pilot is guiding me lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea over the rills and the crags and the hills over the lakes and the plains wherever he dream under mountain or stream the spirit he loves remains and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile whilst he is dissolving in rains the sanguine sunrise with his meatier eyes and his burning plumes outspread leaps on the back of my sailing rack when the morning star shines dead as on the jag of a mountain crag which an earthquake rocks and swings an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings and when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath its ardors of rest and of love and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above with wings folded i rest on mine airy nest as still as a brooding dove that orbd maiden with white fire laden whom mortals call the moon glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor by the midnight breezes strewn and wherever the beat of her unseen feet which only the angels hear may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof the stars peep behind her and peer and i laugh to see them whirl and flee like a swarm of golden bees when i widen the rent in my wind-built tent till the calm rivers lakes and seas like strips of the sky fallen through me on high are each paved with the moon and these i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone and the moon's with a girdle of pearl the volcanoes are dim and the stars reel and swim when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl from cape to cape with a bridge-like shape over a torrent see sunbeam proof i hang like a roof the mountains its columns be the triumphal arch through which i march with hurricane fire and snow when the powers of the air are chained to my chair is the million-colored bow the sphere fire above its soft colors wove while the moist earth was laughing below i am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky i pass through the pores of the ocean 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.

To

Ask me no more.

The moon may draw the sea.

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape with fold to fold of mountain or of cape.

But, O too fond, when have I answered thee? Ask me no more.

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

Section six, The Cloud.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean 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.

End of section six, The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Any door, the right support.

if even i were as in my boyhood and could be the comrade of thy wanderings over heaven as then when to outstrip thy skyey speed scarce seem'd a vision i would ne'er have striven as thus with thee in prayer in my sore need o lift me as a wave a leaf a cloud i fall upon the thorns of life i bleed a heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed one too like thee tameless and swift and proud make me thy lyre even as the forest is what if my leaves are falling like its own the tumult of thy mighty harmonies will take from both a deep autumnal tone sweet though in sadness be thou spirit fierce my spirit be thou me impetuous one drive my dead thoughts over the universe like withered leaves to quicken a new birth and by the incantation of this verse scatter as from an unextinguished hearth ashes and sparks my words among mankind be through my lips to unawakened earth the trumpet of a prophecy o wind if winter comes can spring be far behind The Cloud by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Read for LibriVox.org. i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers from the seas and the streams i bear light shade for the leaves when laid in their noonday dreams from my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds every one when rocked to rest on their mother's breast as she dances about the sun i wield the flail of the lashing hail and whiten the green plains under and then again i dissolve it in rain and laugh as i pass in thunder i sift the snow on the mountains below and their great pines grown aghast and all the night tis my pillow white while i sleep in the arms of the blast sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers lightning my pilot sits in a cavern under is fettered the thunder it struggles and howls at fits over earth and ocean with gentle motion this pilot is guiding me lured by the love of the genii that move in the depths of the purple sea over the rills and the crags and the hills over the lakes and the plains wherever he dream under mountain or stream the spirit he loves remains and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile whilst he is dissolving in rains the sanguine sunrise with his meatier eyes and his burning plumes outspread leaps on the back of my sailing rack when the morning star shines dead as on the jag of a mountain crag which an earthquake rocks and swings an eagle alit one moment may sit in the light of its golden wings and when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath its ardors of rest and of love and the crimson pall of eve may fall from the depth of heaven above with wings folded i rest on mine airy nest as still as a brooding dove that orbd maiden with white fire laden whom mortals call the moon glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor by the midnight breezes strewn and wherever the beat of her unseen feet which only the angels hear may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof the stars peep behind her and peer and i laugh to see them whirl and flee like a swarm of golden bees when i widen the rent in my wind-built tent till the calm rivers lakes and seas like strips of the sky fallen through me on high are each paved with the moon and these i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone and the moon's with a girdle of pearl the volcanoes are dim and the stars reel and swim when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl from cape to cape with a bridge-like shape over a torrent see sunbeam proof i hang like a roof the mountains its columns be the triumphal arch through which i march with hurricane fire and snow when the powers of the air are chained to my chair is the million-colored bow the sphere fire above its soft colors wove while the moist earth was laughing below i am the daughter of earth and water and the nursling of the sky i pass through the pores of the ocean 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 to a skylark By Percy Bysshe Shelley Read for LibriVox.org hail to thee blithe spirit bird thou never wert that from heaven or near it pourest thy full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art higher still and higher from the earth thou springest like a cloud of fire the blue deep thou wingest and singing still dost soar and soaring ever singest in the golden lightning of the sunken sun o'er which clouds are brightening thou dost float and run like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun the pale purple even melts around thy flight like a star of heaven in the broad daylight thou art unseen but yet i hear thy shrill delight keen as are the arrows of that silver sphere whose intense lamp narrows in the white dawn clear until we hardly see we feel that it is there all the earth and air with thy voices loud as when night is bare from one lonely cloud the moon rains out her beams and heaven is overflowed what thou art we know not what is most like thee from rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see as from thy presence showers a rain of melody like a poet hidden in the light of thought singing hymns unbidden till the world is wrought to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not like a high-born maiden in a palace tower soothing her love-laden soul in secret hour with music sweet as love which overflows her bower like a glow-worm golden in a dell of dew scattering unbeholden its aerial hue among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view like a rose embowered in its own green leaves by warm winds deflowered till the scent it gives makes faint with too much sweet these heavy winged thieves sound of vernal showers on the twinkling grass rain awakened flowers all that ever was joyous and clear and fresh thy music doth surpass teach us sprite or bird what sweet thoughts are thine i have never heard praise of love or wine that panted forth a flood of rapture so divine chorus hymeneal or triumphal chaunt matched with thine would be all but an empty vaunt a thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want what objects are the fountains of thy happy strain what fields or waves or mountains what shapes of sky or plain what love of thine own kind what ignorance of pain with thy clear keen joyance languor cannot be shadow of annoyance never came near thee thou lovest but ne'er knew love's sad satiety waking or asleep thou of death must deem things more true and deep than we mortals dream or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream we look before and after and pine for what is not our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought yet if we could scorn hate and pride and fear if we were things born not to shed a tear i know not how thy joy we ever should come near better than all measures of delightful sound better than all treasures that in books are found thy skill to poet were thou scorner of the ground teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know such harmonious madness from my lips would flow the world should listen then as i am listening now End of poem.

This recording is in the public domain.

on thy cold gray stones o sea and i would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me o well for the fisherman's boy that he shouts with his sister at play o well for the sailor lad that he sings in his boat on the bay and the stately ships go on to their haven under the hill but oh for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still break break break at the foot of thy crags o sea but the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me End of poem.

This recording is in the public domain.

tears idle tears i know not what they mean tears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the eyes in looking on the happy autumn fields and thinking of the days that are no more fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail that brings our friends up from the underworld sad as the last which reddens over one that sinks with all we love below the verge so sad so fresh the days that are no more ah sad and strange as in dark summer dawns the earliest pipe of half-awakened birds to dying hears when unto dying eyes the casement slowly grows a glimmering square so sad so strange the days that are no more dear as remembered kisses after death and sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for others deep as love deep as first love and wild with all regret o death in life the days that are no more song from the princess two by lord tennyson ask me no more the moon may draw the sea the cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape with fold to fold of mountain or of cape but o too fond when have i answered thee ask me no more ask me no more what answer should i give i love not hollow cheek or faded eye yet o my friend i will not have thee die ask me no more lest i should bid thee live ask me no more Ask me no more.

Thy fate and mine are sealed.

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

Section six, The Cloud.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.

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.

End of section six, The Cloud, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.