The Cloud
(O cloud well appointed! -- BLAKE)
I do not know how you can shun
His sight who sees himself a clod
Whose blindness still outstares the sun
And gazes on the hidden God.
I do not know how you can hate
A heart so set about with fire,
A sword so linked with heavy fate
And broken with unknown desire.
I see your eyes with glory blaze
And splendour bind your dusky hair,
And ever through the nights and days
My soul must struggle with despair.
Your beauty must forever be
My cloud of anguish, and your breath
Raise sorrow like the surging sea
Around the windy wastes of death.