if the clouds were singing a song

In the final smackdown between "home sick" and "working from home" I think "home sick" is winning. I went to work this morning, which was apparently a bad idea because now I am useless and kind of high on cough syrup and fake sudafed. I would like to have real sudafed, but I think these days it would probably be easier to get my hands on meth, and, like, extract the sudafed or something. Did I mention the part where I was high on cough syrup? ANYWAY. Poetry! I don't necessarily agree with this poem (or, always, with Stevens), but I do think it is lovely and evocative.

Gloomy grammarians in golden gowns,
Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous,
Eliciting the still sustaining pomps
Of speech which are like music so profound
They seem an exaltation without sound.
Funest philosophers and ponderers,
Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
So speech of your processionals returns
In the casual evocations of your tread
Across the stale, mysterious seasons. These
Are the music of meet resignation; these
The responsive, still sustaining pomps for you
To magnify, if in that drifting waste
You are to be accompanied by more
Than mute bare splendors of the sun and moon.

~Wallace Stevens, "On the Manner of Addressing Clouds," from Harmonium, 1923. I swear one day I will stop affiliating bandom without my poetry posts, but you just know Ryan Ross reads Wallace Stevens.