From Those Airy Heights Projecting Poem by james watkin

From those airy heights projecting
His majesty of dominion
Pathetic adjudge
Cruel sun, each pallid
Cloudlet on its tatty pinion.

"Bah! False prophets of rain, you can
Seek my overthrow but tamely!
Approach not my throne
Lest my summer's face
Of scowls, in scorched gusts, scatter thee! "

Into one dark vengeful body
Unnoticeably did each toddle.
Of whose bright pillars
What first o'ershadowed
Rocked thun'drous, day's strength, to topple.