The cloud may sail there,
Day flow and fail there,
And the eagle fly,
Haze overshadow
A smooth snow meadow,
And gleams of silver
Fleeting fly
From yon cloud-delver
Of gleaming eye!
The moon may tarry with
Her pale bow,
And moonrise marry with
Virgin snow,
Blue heavens abide,
Or solemn-eyed
Stars by night, who gaze and go:
Ah! ne'er pollute
With a mortal foot
Yon realms of spirits aerial;
All but the lute
Of air be mute
From rosy morn to evening fall,
While flowerets blue,
Fair with dew,
Laugh to the azure over all;
Let a music mazy,
Born of the hazy
Play of a tender light and shade,
On hallowed ground
Dance with the sound
Fairy horns have faintly made;
A cloud of snow
Softly blow
On the blue verge of the form so white,
Delicate curl
In a windy whirl;
But man, be far from the holy height,
Soil no fair fields of frosty light!