Phantasmion's Quest of Iarine

YON changeful cloud will soon thy aspect wear,
So bright it grows : — and now, by light winds shaken, —
O ever seen yet ne'er to be o'ertaken ! —
Those waving branches seem thy billowy hair.
The cypress glades recall thy pensive air ;
Slow rills that wind like snakes amid the grass,
Thine eye's mild sparkle fling me as they pass,
Yet murmuring cry, This fruitless Quest forbear !
Nay, e'en amid the cataract's loud storm,
Where foaming torrents from the crags are leaping,
Methinks I catch swift glimpses of thy form,
Thy robe's light folds in airy tumult sweeping ;
Then silent are the falls : 'mid colours warm,
Gleams the bright maze beneath their splendour sweeping.