Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, with a selection from his letters and a memoir

by Arthur Hugh Clough

I sketch it as we float along.

The stream is strong, and as I sit

And view the picture that we quit,

It flows and flows, and bears the boat,

And I sit sketching as we float.

Still as we go, the things I see,

E’en as I see them, cease to be,

The angles shift, and with the boat

The whole perspective seems to float.

Each pointed height, each wavy line,