3The upper skies are palest blueMottled with pearl and fretted snow:With tattered fleece of inky hueClose overhead the stormclouds go.Their shadows fly along the hillAnd o’er the crest mount one by one:The whitened planking of the millIs now in shade and now in sun.
3The upper skies are palest blueMottled with pearl and fretted snow:With tattered fleece of inky hueClose overhead the stormclouds go.Their shadows fly along the hillAnd o’er the crest mount one by one:The whitened planking of the millIs now in shade and now in sun.
The upper skies are palest blueMottled with pearl and fretted snow:With tattered fleece of inky hueClose overhead the stormclouds go.Their shadows fly along the hillAnd o’er the crest mount one by one:The whitened planking of the millIs now in shade and now in sun.
The upper skies are palest blueMottled with pearl and fretted snow:With tattered fleece of inky hueClose overhead the stormclouds go.Their shadows fly along the hillAnd o’er the crest mount one by one:The whitened planking of the millIs now in shade and now in sun.
The upper skies are palest blueMottled with pearl and fretted snow:With tattered fleece of inky hueClose overhead the stormclouds go.
The upper skies are palest blue
Mottled with pearl and fretted snow:
With tattered fleece of inky hue
Close overhead the stormclouds go.
Their shadows fly along the hillAnd o’er the crest mount one by one:The whitened planking of the millIs now in shade and now in sun.
Their shadows fly along the hill
And o’er the crest mount one by one:
The whitened planking of the mill
Is now in shade and now in sun.