Yet not for him lifts the low weather cloud,
Not for his solace comes the clearing gale,
Who dreams but on himself, whose breath may fail
And leave no crown his due, no god his debtor;
Of his own gloom sole builder and begetter.
But Nature for thy mirth shall laugh aloud,
O trustful child, who on her heart hast lain
In every flow of storm and fit of rain.
So let the day be wilder, windier, wetter,
It irks not thee, nor bids thy fealty end,
Affection wasted and allegiance vain;
But rather seems like an embracing Friend
Who puts thee from him, but to view thee better,
And better so to fold thee close again.