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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.
Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again.
Restless it rolls, and insecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure;
So the soul, that drop, that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height,
Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green,
And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in a heaven less.
White and entire, although congealed and chill;
Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the almighty sun. MARVELL.
LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight;
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;
By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;
Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth,
And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.