My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? By th' mass and 'tis, like a camel indeed. Methinks it is like a weasel. It is backed like a weasel. Or like a whale. Very like a whale.

Thus we play the fool with the time and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us.

O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,And loathsome canker lies in sweetest bud.All men make faults.

And with Yeats you lean against a broken pear tree,the day hooded by low clouds.