How did clouds get their names?

Look at the picture - How are the names for the different cloud forms related to one another?

The study of clouds has always been a daydreamer’s science, aptly founded by a thoughtful young man whose favorite activity was staring out of the window at the sky. Richard Hamblyn tells the history of Luke Howard, the man who classified the clouds and forever changed humanity’s understanding of these changeable, mysterious objects.

The names of the clouds were derived from which language?

A Latin

B Greek

C French

D German

 

Luke Howard's profession was:

A Meteorologist

B Teacher

C Pharmacist

D Clergyman

 

The name 'cirrus' means:

A Heap or pile

B Layer or sheet

C Light or pale

D Tendril or hair

 

Which famous poet wrote a poem called 'The Cloud':

A William Wordsworth

B Lord Byron

C Percy Shelley

D Henry W. Longfellow

 

The study of clouds is known as:

A Meteorology

B Cloudology

C Nephology

D Geology 

Pre-learn the vocab:

24 terms

Watch:

How clouds got their names

Short radio clip on Shelley's The Cloud

shaken     rest        showers     hail     sun     shade     again     thunder     streams

 

I bring fresh 1______ for the thirsting flowers,

From the seas and the 2______;

I bear light 3______ for the leaves when laid

In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are 4______ the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,

When rocked to 5_____ on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the 6 ______.

I wield the flail of the lashing 7_____,

And whiten the green plains under,

And then 8______ I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in 9______.

 

What or who is “I” in this poem?

 

What do these words mean?

Bear   noonday   dews    buds    wield    flail   lashing   

The Cloud

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

next verses...

...

I sift the snow on the mountains below,

And their great pines groan aghast;

And all the night 'tis my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast.

Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits;

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,

It struggles and howls at fits;

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,

Lured by the love of the genii that move

In the depths of the purple sea;

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,

Over the lakes and the plains,

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,

The Spirit he loves remains;

And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,

Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,

And his burning plumes outspread,

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead;

As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings.

And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,

Its ardours of rest and of love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of Heaven above,

With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,

As still as a brooding dove.

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,

Whom mortals call the Moon,

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,

By the midnight breezes strewn;

And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,

Which only the angels hear,

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,

The stars peep behind her and peer;

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees,

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,

Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,

Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,

And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.

From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,

Over a torrent sea,

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.

The triumphal arch through which I march

With hurricane, fire, and snow,

When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,

Is the million-coloured bow;

The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,

While the moist Earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

And the nursling of the Sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain when with never a stain

The pavilion of Heaven is bare,

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams

Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

I arise and unbuild it again.