[T]here is something graver than to be immortal, and that is to be mortal. - Alice Meynell

The cloud controls the light.[...] It is the cloud that, holding the sun's rays in a sheaf as a giant holds a handful of spears, strikes the horizon, touches the extreme edge with a delicate revelation of light, or suddenly puts it out and makes the foreground shine.

This moment's Tiber with his shining eyes Never saw Rome before.

Men in cities look upward not much more than animals, and these—except the dog when he bays the moon—look skyward not at all.