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William Wordsworth - The Simplon Pass
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.         —Brook and road 
    Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass,
    And with them did we journey several hours
    At a slow step. The immeasurable height
    Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,
    The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
    And in the narrow rent, at every turn,
    Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn,
    The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
   The rocks that muttered close upon our ears,
   Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside
   As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
   And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
   The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
   Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light—
   Were all like workings of one mind, the features
   Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
   Characters of the great Apocalypse,
   The types and symbols of Eternity,
   Of first and last, and midst, and without end.
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