 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
136
XXII.
[From morn till noon here on this mountain-side]
From morn till noon here on this mountain-sideIn lonely meditation have I spent,
Beholding three fair valleys winding wide,
Beholding all, yet with no one content.
And shall I ask my heart what here is meant?—
What fault or change, that it should beat so slow,
Which used to bound in thought of such a show,
Thrill'd through with wonder and with ravishment?
Or shall I bend my steps by yon sweet way
Dark-opening on a land—perchance how fair?—
So, having found it, turn in grief away,
Or satisfy my soul with beauties there?
Nay, let it rest unseen! since dearer far
Is the sweet doubt of what those beauties are.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |