To reap some harvest from this halt of ours.
Bethink thee, reader, if thou e’er hast been
Among the Alps o’ertaken by a cloud,
Through which all objects were as blindly seen
As moles behold things through their visual shroud;
How, as the vapors dank and thick begin
To thin themselves, the solar sphere’s faint ray
Scarce pierces them,—and readily may’st thou
Conceive (when first I saw it) in what way
To me the sun looked that was setting now.