Cloud City



    Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;
Nature in silence bid the world repose;
When near the road a stately palace rose:
There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass.

-Thomas Parnell, The Hermit, 1722


I sift the snow on the mountains below,
        And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
        While I sleep in the arms of the blast.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cloud, 1820






images © 1997 by Randy Wang
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