Piping down the valleys wild /Piping songs of pleasant glee / On a cloud I saw a child. / And he laughing said to me: / Pipe a song about a Lamb! / So I piped with merry chear.
R is the Dog's letter, and hurreth in the sound; the tongue striking the inner palate, with a trembling about the teeth.
What if my words wind in and out the stone
As yonder ivy, the God's parasite?
Though they leap all the way the pillar leads,
Festoon about the marble, foot to frieze,
And serpentiningly enrich the roof,
Toy with some few bees and a bird or two,—
What then? The column holds the cornice up.
The wisps of smoke above Léogane became dark and thick, and flowered into a towering thunderhead—an ominous cloud that drifted slowly to the westward and was constantly replenished at its base by uprushes of blacker smoke.
