He clasps the crag with crooked 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 wall,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
By Alfred Lord Tennyson 1851
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 wall,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
By Alfred Lord Tennyson 1851