He came to the cave as the evening mist
rose, and drew breath, and looked down the valley.
They seemed changed to one another's eyes, in the red brilliancy that flamed upon their cheeks, while it lent the same fire to the lake, the rocks, and sky, and to the mists
which had rolled back before its power.
At a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the setting sun, appeared the Great Stone Face, with hoary mists
around it, like the white hairs around .
And the characteristic aspect of westerly weather, the thick, gray, smoky and sinister tone sets in, circumscribing the view of the men, drenching their bodies, oppressing their souls, taking their breath away with booming gusts, deafening, blinding, driving, rushing them onwards in a swaying ship towards our coasts lost in mists
And do you observe, where those trees slope down the hill, (indicating them with a sweep of the hand, and with all the patronising air of the man who has himself arranged the landscape), "how the mists
rising from the river fill up exactly those intervals where we need indistinctness, for artistic effect?
After ten minutes' rapid progress we gained an open space from which we could just descry the ridge we intended to mount looming dimly through the mists
of the tropical shower, and distant from us, as we estimated, something more than a mile.
It is a blessed consolation to be able to lay the misdoubtings of our arrogant nature at the thresh old of the dwelling-place of the Deity, from whence they shall be swept away, at the great opening of the portal, like the mists
of the morning before the rising sun.
The clouds closed and the smell went away, and there remained nothing in all the world except chilling white mists
and the boom of the Sutlej River.
The clouds are thick around their heads, The mists
around their feet.
Golden, rose, saffron, and pink, the morning mists
smoked away across the flat green levels.
On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists
of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the winged strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair.
had rolled up more thickly than ever and the queer little structure was almost invisible.