Mikhail Lermontov — The Cliff

By a cliff a golden cloud once lingered;

On his breast it slept, but, riseing early,

Off it gently rushed across the pearly

Blue of sky, a tiny thing and winged.

Still, a trace it left upon the stony

Giant's heart, and plunged in thought and weeping

Slow and tortured tears, he stands there, keeping

Vigil o'er the gloomy waste and lonely.