CLOUD PICTURES.

MONG the grass I love to lie, And watch the fleecy clouds pass by: For many pictures there I see, So clear although so far from me. Sometimes across the blue there floats A stately fleet of white-sailed boats; On shining mountains' rugged crests The grey-winged cloud-birds seek their nests. And o'er the sunset's radiant bar, Lone fairy lands most surely are, With ruby isles in lakes of gold, Where towers in crimson light unfold. The black clouds gather from afar, As mighty armies march to war, And when they meet in thunder-crash, I see their spears of lightning flash. For ever changing, to and fro, Blown by the careless wind they go; No wonder the cloud pictures there Are always fresh, and always fair.