And the nursling of the sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
The pavilion of heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Aus: Percy Bysshe Shelley „The Cloud“