by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861)
The house of clouds
Language: English
I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud -- I build it bright to see, -- I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee. Cloud-walls of the morning's grey, Faced with amber column, -- Crowned with crimson cupola From a sunset solemn! May mists, for the casements, fetch, Pale and glimmering; With a sunbeam hid in each, And a smell of spring. Build the entrance high and proud, Darkening and then brightening, -- If a riven thunder-cloud, Veined by the lightning. Use one with an iris-stain, For the door within; Turning to a sound like rain, As I enter in. Build a spacious hall thereby: Boldly, never fearing. Use the blue place of the sky, Which the wind is clearing; Branched with corridors sublime, Flecked with winding stairs -- Such as children wish to climb, Following their own prayers. In the mutest of the house, I will have my chamber: Silence at the door shall use Evening's light of amber, Solemnising every mood, Softemng in degree, -- Turning sadness into good, As I turn the key. Be my chamber tapestried With the showers of summer, Close, but soundless, -- glorified When the sunbeams come here; Wandering harpers, harping on Waters stringed for such, -- Drawing colours, for a tune, With a vibrant touch. Bring a shadow green and still From the chestnut forest, Bring a purple from the hill, When the heat is sorest; Spread them out from wall to wall, Carpet-wove around, -- Whereupon the foot shall fall In light instead of sound. Bring the fantasque cloudlets home From the noontide zenith Ranged, for sculptures, round the room, -- Named as Fancy weeneth: Some be Junos, without eyes; Naiads, without sources Some be birds of paradise, -- Some, Olympian horses. Bring the dews the birds shake off, Waking in the hedges, -- Those too, perfumed for a proof, From the lilies' edges: From our England's field and moor, Bring them calm and white in; Whence to form a mirror pure, For Love's self-delighting. Bring a grey cloud from the east, Where the lark is singing; Something of the song at least, Unlost in the bringing: That shall be a morning chair, Poet-dream may sit in, When it leans out on the air, Unrhymed and unwritten. Bring the red cloud from the sun While he sinketh, catch it. That shall be a couch, -- with one Sidelong star to watch it, -- Fit for poet's finest Thought, At the curfew-sounding, -- ; Things unseen being nearer brought Than the seen, around him. Poet's thought, -- -not poet's sigh! 'Las, they come together! Cloudy walls divide and fly, As in April weather! Cupola and column proud, Structure bright to see -- Gone -- except that moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee! Let them! Wipe such visionings From the Fancy's cartel -- Love secures some fairer things Dowered with his immortal. The sun may darken, -- heaven be bowed -- But still, unchanged shall be, -- Here in my soul, -- that moonlit cloud, To which I looked with THEE!
First published in Athenæum, August 1841
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Authorship:
- by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861), "The house of clouds" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Joseph Williams (1847 - 1923), as Pascal Florian, "The house of clouds", published 1905 [high voice and piano], from Eight Songs (5th set), London : J. Williams ; excerpts [text not verified]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2010-04-29
Line count: 104
Word count: 512