Soon They Were All Sitting On The Rocky Ledge, Which Was Still Warm, Watching The Sun Go Down Into The Lake. It Was The Most Beautiful Evening, With The Lake As Blue As A Cornflower And The Sky Flecked With Rosy Clouds. They Held Their Hard-boiled Eggs In One Hand And A Piece Of Bread And Butter In The Other, Munching Happily. There Was A Dish Of Salt For Everyone To Dip Their Eggs Into. ‘i Don’t Know Why, But The Meals We Have On Picnics Always Taste So Much Nicer Than The Ones We Have Indoors,’ Said George.
A Kiss About Apple Pie A La Mode With The Vanilla Creaminess Melting In The Pie Heat. A Kiss About Chocolate, When You Haven't Eaten Chocolate In A Year. A Kiss About Palm Trees Speeding By, Trailing Pink Clouds When You Drive Down The Strip Sizzling With Champagne. A Kiss About Spotlights Fanning The Sky And The Swollen Sea Spilling Like Tears All Over Your Legs.
I Wish I Wasn’t A Girl Who Needed So Much But A Little Free Creature That Slept In Deserts And Ran On Clouds And Lived On Lilies.
Bring Me My Bow Of Burning Gold: Bring Me My Arrows Of Desire: Bring Me My Spear: O Clouds, Unfold! Bring Me My Chariot Of Fire.
Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.
The Tap'ring Pyramid, The Egyptian's Pride, And Wonder Of The World, Whose Spiky Top Has Wounded The Thick Cloud.
The Spirit Of True Religion Breathes Gentleness And Affability; It Gives A Native, Unaffected Ease To The Behavior; It Is Social, Kind, Cheerful; Far Removed From The Cloudy And Illiberal Disposition Which Clouds The Brow, Sharpens The Temper, And Dejects The Spirit.
Being A Playwright Is Like The Equivalent Of Doing A Jigsaw Puzzle That Has 1,500 Pieces, And It's A Jigsaw Of A Blue Sky. Not A Cloud In Sight.
And Behind Their Frail Partitions Business Women Lie And Soak, Seeing Through The Draughty Skylight Flying Clouds And Railway Smoke. Rest You There, Poor Unbelov'd Ones, Lap Your Loneliness In Heat, All Too Soon The Tiny Breakfast, Trolley-bus And Windy Street!
And London Shops On Christmas Eve Are Strung With Silver Bells And Flowers As Hurrying Clerks The City Leave To Pigeon-haunted Classic Towers, And Marbled Clouds Go Scudding By The Many-steepled London Sky
