No More Learning

Besides, though but a moment since
Serenest was the weather of the sky,
So fiercely sudden is it foully thick
That ye might think that round about all murk
Had parted forth from Acheron and filled
The mighty vaults of sky--so grievously,
As gathers thus the storm-clouds'           night,
Do faces of black horror hang on high--
Of which how small a part an image is
There's none to tell or reckon out in words.