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The clouds that float across the sky all seem to deeply weep ; The tears are coursing to the earth to find a restful sleep; The foliage upon the trees is drooping as in grief And beckoning for a rainbow fair, to bloom and grant relief. The canopy beyond the clouds seems hovering close at hand, With zephyrs from a higher plane, as if by fairies fanned; And all the clouds in solemn garb their misty form may steep; They move along beyond the hill, to cradle o'er the deep. The great old sea with foamy caps, that on the billows ride, Which chase each other o'er the waste, before the gale and tide, Are much disturbed to see, above, their Alma Mater's grief, And kiss the sands along the shore -- the bidding of the Chief. When all the heavy hearts are wrung, and they may weep no more, And not a cloud is in the sky--sweet dreams from shore to shore-- No doubt we then may understand, where earth and rainbow meet, Just why it was the fleeting clouds in sadness seemed to weep. |