Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — The Bridge of Cloud

Burn, O evening hearth, and waken        &nbsp Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken,        &nbsp Safe I keep this room of gold! Ah, no longer wizard Fancy        &nbsp Builds her castles in the air, Luring me by necromancy        &nbsp Up the never-ending stair! But, instead, she builds me bridges        &nbsp Over many a dark ravine, Where beneath the gusty ridges        &nbsp Cataracts dash and roar unseen. And I cross them, little heeding        &nbsp Blast of wind or torrent's roar, As I follow the receding        &nbsp Footsteps that have gone before. Naught avails the imploring gesture,        &nbsp Naught avails the cry of pain! When I touch the flying vesture,        &nbsp 'T is the gray robe of the rain. Baffled I return, and, leaning        &nbsp O'er the parapets of cloud, Watch the mist that intervening        &nbsp Wraps the valley in its shroud. And the sounds of life ascending        &nbsp Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, Murmur of bells and voices blending        &nbsp With the rush of waters near. Well I know what there lies hidden,        &nbsp Every tower and town and farm, And again the land forbidden        &nbsp Reassumes its vanished charm. Well I know the secret places,        &nbsp And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces,        &nbsp In what hearts are thoughts of me. Through the mist and darkness sinking,        &nbsp Blown by wind and beaten by shower, Down I fling the thought I'm thinking,        &nbsp Down I toss this Alpine flower.