|
Cloud |
Today again from the east that thick black nimbus fares
And Surban’s mountain-crest a dark-hued covering ears. |
When the face of the sun was hid in the skirt of its misty course,
A chill wind raced on the cloud as a horseman speeds his horse. |
There is no rumble of thunder: the silence is thick as a pall:
In the strange wine-shop of the heavens a quiet lies over all. |
It has ordered a scheme for the garden of joy that will always bless
And has come to fasten a gem on the hem of the flower’s long dress. |
The bloom that once had nodded in the heat of the sun’s fierce ray
To fall in earth’s lap, it rouses from sleep to a lifting day. |
With the wind’s wild blast the nimbus grew to mounting and soaring mass,
And towering still higher it showered the rain out over the grass. |
It has made for the mountain saplings their own miraculous tent.
Here let them rest, the wanderers, who from journey in vale are spent. |
Translated by: H.T. Sorley |
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