The Silent Cloud
Inconsummate in its unworldly realms,
The soul of night distends and overwhelms
The modest splendor of the silent cloud,
Which hurries through without a sigh aloud.
Besought by doubt in his eternal dome,
The slender angel leaves again his home
In search of passion wrung from longing hearts
Which dream, awake, of handsome Cupid’s darts.
Again, alone, amiss, afar, aloof,
The tree of light has pierced the sturdy roof
Of thick despair and taken from the sky
What ancient gods had stolen by their lie.
Yet here, below, where nothing bars the way
Of tepid life on its naïve display,
The ring of freedom shines celestial peace
And makes all sadness shrink, decline and cease.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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