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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409102" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 11</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=409102" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Which are the clouds, and which the mountains? See,<br>They mix and melt together! Yon blue hill<br>Looks fleeting as the vapors which distill<br>Their dews upon its summit, while the free<br>And far-off clouds, now solid, dark, and still,<br>An aspect wear of calm eternity.<br>Each seems the other, as our fancies will --<br>The cloud a mount, the mount a cloud, and we<br>Gaze doubtfully. So everywhere on earth,<br>This foothold where we stand with slipping feet,<br>The unsubstantial and substantial meet,<br>And we are fooled until made wise by Time.<br>Is not the obvious lesson something worth,<br>Lady? or have I wov'n an idle rhyme?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a></strong></div>

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