Explore "Clouds" by Paul Bewsher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis strange to leave this world of woods and hills, / This world of little farms, and shady mills, -- / Of fields, and water-meadows fair, / Upon some sad and shadowy day / When all the skies are overcast and grey, / And climb up through the gloomy air, / And ever hurry higher still, and higher, / Till underneath you lies a far-flung shire / All sober-hued beneath the ceiling pale / Of crawling clouds, whose barrier soon you reach, / And through their clammy vapours swiftly sail, / Their chill defences hoping soon to breach -- / To see no skies above, no ground below, / And in that nothingness toss to and fro / Is no sweet moment -- will it never cease? --
Climbing and diving, thrown from side to side, -- / All suddenly there comes a sense of peace / And o'er a wondrous scenery we glide.