Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds; Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street. Whirlpools of purple and gold, Winds from the mountains of cinnabar, Lacquered mandarin moments, palanquins swaying and balancing Amid the vermilion pavilions, against the jade balustrades. Glint of the glittering wings of dragon-flies in the light: Silver filaments, golden flakes settling downwards, Rippling, quivering flutters, repulse and surrender, The sun broidered upon the rain, The rain rustling with the sun. Over the roof-tops race the shadows of clouds; Like horses the shadows of clouds charge down the street. VI The balancing of gaudy broad pavilions Of summer against the insolent breeze: The bellying of the sides of striped tents, Swelling taut, shuddering in quick collapse, Silent under the silence of the sky. Earth is streaked and spotted With great splashes and dapples of sunlight: The sun throws an immense circle of hot light upon the world, Rolling slowly in ponderous rhythm Darkly, musically forward. All is silent under the steep cone of afternoon: The sky is imperturbably profound. The ultimate divine union seems about to be accomplished, All is troubled at the attainment Of the inexhaustible infinite. The rolling and the tossing of the sides of immense pavilions Under the whirling wind that screams up the cloudless sky. VII Flickering of incessant rain On flashing pavements: Sudden scurry of umbrellas: Bending, recurved blossoms of the storm. The winds came clanging and clattering From long white highroads whipping in ribbons up summits: They strew upon the city gusty wafts of appleblossom, And the rustling of innumerable translucent leaves. Uneven tinkling, the lazy rain Dripping from the eaves. VIII The fountain blows its breathless spray From me to you and back to me. Whipped, tossed, curdled, Crashing, quivering: I hurl kisses like blows upon your lips. The dance of a bee drunken with sunlight: Irradiant ecstasies, white and gold, Sigh and relapse. The fountain tosses pallid spray Far in the sorrowful, silent sky. IX The houses of the city no longer hum and play: They lie like careless drowsy giants, dumb, estranged. One presses to his breast his toy, a lighted pane: One stirs uneasily: one is cold in death. And the late moon, fearfully peering over an immense shoulder, Sees, in the shadow below, the unpeopled hush of a street. X The trees, like great jade elephants, Chained, stamp and shake 'neath the gadflies of the breeze The trees lunge and plunge, unruly elephants: The clouds are their crimson howdah-canopies, The sunlight glints like the golden robe of a Shah. Would I were tossed on the wrinkled backs of those trees XI The clouds are like a sombre sea: On shining screens of ebony Are carven marvels of my heart.