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CLOUDS IN POETRY
AMERICAN INDIANS
Soft white plumes
move
under the sunset
and over the far edge of the earth (Papago)
I am a red cloud,
I am made of sky
and sing in the flowers,in the mountains,
In the flowery dresses of the mountain-tops.
My song is like that of a bird
hidden behind the rocks.
I cry at morning
following the path,
looking back at the late stars. (Kiowa)
Away and lonely
I sing inside me.
I cry over my fate,
and a cloud,
moved by commotion
cries with me (Tlingit)
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
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 everyone
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 groan aghast;
and all the night 'tis my pillow white
while I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey 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 mountains 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 meteor 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 earthquacke rocks and swings,
an eagle alit one moment may sit
in the light of its golden wings.
And when the Sunset may breathe,from the lit sea beneath,
its ardours of rest and love,
and the crimson pall of eve may fall
from the depth of Heaven above,
with wings folded I rest,on mine aery nest,
as still as a brooding dove.
That orbed 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 I 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 sea,
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 milion -coloured bow;
the sphere-fire above its soft colours 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.
HERMAN HESSE
Bianche nuvole
O guarda,si librano di nuovo
come sommesse melodie
di belle dimenticate canzoni
verso il cielo blu!
Nessun cuore le può capire
al quale durante un lungo viaggio
non si è aperto il sapere
di tutte le pene e gioie del cammino.
Le amo così bianche e sciolte
come il sole,il mare,il vento,
perchè sono sorelle ed angeli
di quelli senza casa e patria.
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