Classic Poem

Here by the sunless Lake there is no air,
Yet with how ceaseless motion, like a shower
Flowing and fading, do the high Mists lower
Amid the gorges of the Mountains bare.
Some weary breathing never ceases there,—
The barren peaks can feel it hour by hour;
The purple depths are darken'd by its power;
A soundless breath, a trouble all things share
That feel it come and go. See! onward swim
The ghostly Mists, from silent land to land,
From gulf to gulf; now the whole air grows dim—
Like living men, darkling a space, they stand.
But lo! a Sunbeam, like the Cherubim,
Scatters them onward with a flaming brand.