Before “sky” became the common term for the vast expanse above us, it was poetically known as “welkin”—a word closely related to the German “Wolke,” meaning cloud, and even more so to “Wölkchen,” meaning little cloud. Today, the welkin offered a breathtaking sight for those who gazed upward.
Shakespeare himself was no stranger to this enchanting word. In “The Tempest”, Miranda fervently pleads with her father, Prospero, to cease the tumultuous storm he has summoned, which threatens to wreck the ship carrying the King of Milan onto their isolated island:
“The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin’s cheek,
Dashes the fire out.”
Under Prospero’s spell, the sky was as dark as pitch, as if tar itself would rain from the heavens. Today, however, Cleveland’s sky offered a different kind of enchantment, equally captivating in its own way.
The term ‘Welkin’s Cheek’ often translates to the poetic ‘Heaven’s Face,’ suggesting a divine or celestial beauty.
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