The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail, <br />Hanging like curtains all the horizon round, <br />Or overhead in heavy stillness sail; <br />So still is day, it seems like night profound; <br />Scarce by the city's din the air is stirred, <br />And dull and deadened comes its every sound; <br />The cock's shrill, piercing voice subdued is heard, <br />By the thick folds of muffling vapors drowned. <br />Dissolved in mists the hills and trees appear, <br />Their outlines lost and blended with the sky; <br />And well-known objects, that to all are near, <br />No longer seem familiar to the eye, <br />But with fantastic forms they mock the sight, <br />As when we grope amid the gloom of night.<br /><br />Jones Very<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-clouded-morning/
