The Cloud

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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I am a cloud in the heaven’s height, The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and free, I cast my shadow on hill and sea But why do the pines on the mountain’s crest Call to me always, “Rest, rest”? I throw my mantle over the moon And I blind the sun on his throne at noon, Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind, I am a child of the heartless wind But oh the pines on the mountain’s crest Whispering always, “Rest, rest.”

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