Tell Her, O Passing Cloud

TELL HER, O PASSING CLOUD O moonlit cloud that floats above the steeps, My heart is where thy distant shadows fall; These mountain crags are as a prison wall, For their cold granite, love still from me keeps. O summer wanderer in upper deeps, That vale ye cross by me most loved of all; Then tell me while I watch and on thee call, If in thy shadows now my loved one sleeps.

Perhaps in drowsiness she gazed on thee, Ere her fair head she on the pillow laid; Upon her lips was there no vow for me— For I this night a thousand vows have made? Ah! where thy shadows fall I may not be, Yet tell her, passing cloud, what I have prayed. Alfred Lambourne.