 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
HILLS IN MIST.
Familiar is the scene, yet strange:
Field, roadside, tree, and stream,
Fringed with a blur of misty change,—
The landscape of a dream!
Field, roadside, tree, and stream,
Fringed with a blur of misty change,—
The landscape of a dream!
The hills are gone; the river winds
Under a fleecy bank:
The eye, through all its wandering, finds
Both earth and heaven a blank.
Under a fleecy bank:
The eye, through all its wandering, finds
Both earth and heaven a blank.
The picture tells a tale untrue:
Where muffling mists descend,
Where level meadows bound the view,
The horizon does not end.
Where muffling mists descend,
Where level meadows bound the view,
The horizon does not end.
For, glimpsed beyond the spectral trees,
Faint, penciled peaks appear;
And in this fresh, inspiring breeze
We know the mountains near.
Faint, penciled peaks appear;
And in this fresh, inspiring breeze
We know the mountains near.
—O Country all reality,
Hidden from mortal sight
By baffling folds of mystery,
Show our tired souls thy light!
Hidden from mortal sight
By baffling folds of mystery,
Show our tired souls thy light!
O Breath from hills invisible,
Flow through the films of doubt,
That we, who here as pilgrims dwell,
Feel not from home shut out!
Flow through the films of doubt,
That we, who here as pilgrims dwell,
Feel not from home shut out!
Or help us, when the stifling cloud
Closes on our despair,
By faith to pierce its deathly shroud,
And know that heaven is there!
Closes on our despair,
By faith to pierce its deathly shroud,
And know that heaven is there!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |