Skiddaw, upon thy heights the sun shines bright, But only for a moment: then gives place Unto a playful cloud which on thy brow Sports wantonly,—then floats away in air,— Throwing its shadow on thy towering height;
And, darkening for a moment thy green side, But adds unto its beauty, as it makes The sun more bright when it again appears. Thus
a
in the morning on thy brow those clouds Rest as upon a couch, and give vain
b
scope
For fancyʼs play. And airy fortresses, And towers, and battlements, and all appear Chasing the others off, and in their turn Are chasèd by the others.
c
Skiddaw came,
d
Noble, and grand, and beauteous, clothed with green,
And yet but scantily and in some parts.
e
A bare, terrific cliff precipitous Descends, with only here and there a root, A straggler, pushing forth its branches stiff.
f
Skiddaw, majestic! Giant Natureʼs work!
Those giant works of Art,
1
with thee compared, Sink into nothing; all that Art can do Is nothing beside thee. The touch of man Raised pigmy mountains, but gigantic tombs. The touch of Nature raised the mountainʼs brow,
But made no tombs at all; save where the snow (The fleecy locks of winter) falls around And forms a white tomb for the careless swain
g
Who wanders far from home, and meets his death Amidst the cold of winter.
h