 | Collected poems of Herman Melville |  |
[III In hollows of the liquid hills]
In hollows of the liquid hillsWhere the long Blue Ridges run,
The flattery of no echo thrills,
For echo the seas have none;
Nor aught that gives man back man's strain—
The hope of his heart, the dream in his brain.
| Collected poems of Herman Melville | |