Poetry Monday: Addressing Clouds

On the Manner of Addressing Clouds

 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

If  this poem is read as the title indicates, as addressing the clouds, then the "you" and therefore the gloomy grammarians of the first line are the clouds.  So the clouds "seem an exaltation without sound," which sounds like clouds to me.