I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light read more

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.

But here by the mill the castled clouds
Mocked themselves in the dizzy water.

But here by the mill the castled clouds
Mocked themselves in the dizzy water.

If woolly fleeces spread the heavenly way
No rain, be sure, disturbs the summer's day.

If woolly fleeces spread the heavenly way
No rain, be sure, disturbs the summer's day.

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
By th' mass and 'tis, like a read more

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
By th' mass and 'tis, like a camel indeed.
Methinks it is like a weasel.
It is backed like a weasel.
Or like a whale.
Very like a whale.

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To read more

O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould
Of a friend's fancy.

Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

The clouds,--the only birds that never sleep.

The clouds,--the only birds that never sleep.

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon read more

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.