The Rainbow

THE RAINBOW

By Christopher Pearse Cranch

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Child of the sunlight,
Flower of the skies,
Blooming in petals
Of heavenly dyes;

Springing and growing
In thy garden of mist,
Where the sun hath so often
The thunder-cloud kissed.

Beautiful flower!
So broad and so round,
North and South touching,
Half underground;

Dark in the middle,
But on thy border
Seven bright colours
Ranked in their order!

The clouds are all weeping,
But ere the sun sets,
He flings them this flower
To chase their regrets;

And soon shall their tear-drops
Be dry for the day,
For they’ll take up the flower,
And bear it away.

Still thou art blooming,
Flower of the skies;
Brighter are growing
Thy heavenly dyes,

In the dark halls of thunder,
Outspreading, alone,
Thou reignest o’er cloud-land,
The heavens are thy own.

Queen of the meteors,
Child of the shower,
I hail thee–I’ll name thee
Heaven’s sunflower!

Alas, thou art fading,
Thou’rt withering away!
Dark disc and bright petal,
They droop with the day.

The sun, in whose glory
Thou was born in the sky,
Hath gone in the west,
And left thee to die.

But hung in the rain-drops
I’ll see thee again,
When the sunset smiles out
On the clouds and the rain!

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