At length here stand we, wrapt as in the cloud <br />In which light dwelt before the sun was born, <br />When the great fiat issued, in the morn <br />Of this fair world; alone and in a shroud <br />Of dazzling mist, while the wind whistling loud <br />Buffets thy streaming locks:--result forlorn <br />For us who up yon steep our way have worn, <br />Elate with hope, and of our daring proud. <br />Yet though no stretch of glorious prospect range <br />Beneath our vision,--neither Scottish coast <br />Nor ocean--island, nor the future boast <br />Of far--off hills descried,--I would not change <br />For aught on earth this solitary hour <br />Of Nature's grandest and most sacred power.<br /><br />Henry Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lvii-summit-of-skiddaw-july-7-1838/
