PAINTED on a little cloud,
Opposite the sunset sky,
Far above the high-pil'd crowd
Sailing slowly softly by,
I saw a face, its tender rose
Fram'd in braids of golden hair;
A beauty underiv'd of earth
Was pictur'd and suggested there.

Oh beautiful beyond my thought!
Oh beautiful beyond my dream!
Half fading in the tremulous nought,
Half merging in the golden gleam;
Spiritual as the blue, blue sky,
And rich as any western ray,
Most like some woman of the past,
Whose memory knoweth no decay,--

Yet humanly expression'd, full
Of all that Nature teacheth, power,
And grace, and love, and tender joy,
Unconscious as of any flower.
Was it some heavenly minister?
Or memory of mine own, more fair?
The golden braids were lost in stars,
The cloud-face melted into air.