A gentle sigh of half regret Thou breathest o'er me now, Scarce wakening the leafy shade That trembles on my brow; And yet of direful visitants The sternest thou. Controlling all, of none controlled, O'er earth and sky and sea, Where'er thou listest, wandering, A scourge or balm to be, Thou bendest all to reverence Thy majesty. Thou scatterest the fleecy clouds, And herdest them again To pour upon the harvest lands The bounty of the rain; Then winnowest with lusty flail The ripened grain. In lordly blessings lordliest, In malediction worst, Thou fannest from a shadeless wing, On multitudes accurst, Wan famine, reeking pestilence, And scarlet thirst. The anger of the storm is thine, The terror of the wave; Old ocean in thy foamy wrath Howls, smitten as a slave, Or at thy whisperings of calm Forgets to rave. We see thee not, though everywhere Thou compassest the eye; Thyself, in silence mystical, The subtle harmony Of Nature's tuneful choir divine Dost all supply. Mute spirit, if thy pinions waft, Unbidden o'er my soul, The thoughts that as a tide of dreams Involuntary roll, Be thine the gift of utterance, My tongue control! |