Some new ones came, others drifted away.
We were left by ourselves at the last.
The clouds didn’t altogether like our style,
Our form wasn’t theirs,
We were obviously parvenus, Nature’s profiteers,
Living not on our income but by our output.
The Peaks, their husbands, with their patrimonies,
Were certainly less clever and more stodgy,
But we were clear outsiders, people of a lowly birth,
Not altogether possible, they judged.