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62
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair.
Is the million-coloured bow:
The sphere-flre above its soft colours wove,
While the moist earth was laughing below.
VI.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I pass through the pores 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.
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