It is a shaft of stone filigree-work, frightfully open, so that the guide puts his arms behind you to keep you from falling.

To climb it is a noonday nightmare, and to think of having climbed it crisps all the fifty-six joints of one's twenty digits.

While I was on it, "pinnacled dim in the intense inane," a strong wind was blowing, and I felt sure that the spire was rocking.

It swayed back and forward like a stalk of rye or a cat-o'nine-tails (bulrush) with a bobolink on it.

I mentioned it to the guide, and he said that the spire did really swing back and forward,--I think he said some feet.
Keep any line of knowledge ten years and some other line will intersect it.