He clasps the crag with crookèd hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls. I've been on a poetry kick for a few days now. I think it must be the gorgeously rainy weather. My very favorite is still The Lady of Shalott, but it's too long to post. I will provide a link, however, as everyone needs to read it.