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Page 495 of 788

Author: Adam Mickiewicz

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Already the sun was rising, and showed blood-red; its blunt edge,
as if stripped of beams, was half visible and half hidden in the
black clouds, like a heated horseshoe in the charcoal of a forge.
The wind was rising, and it drove on the clouds from the east,
crowded and jagged as blocks of ice; each cloud as it passed over
sprinkled cold rain; behind it rushed the wind and dried the rain
again; after the wind again a damp cloud flew by; and thus the
day by turns was cold and drizzly.

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