 | Under the dawn |  |
3.
O mountain-regions, stately and exalt,
Am I then false and treacherous to you,
Your perfectly transparent skies of blue,
Your grand rock-masses woven of basalt,
And precipices where the wild birds halt
With some more daring, giddier flight in view
And nooks where birches cluster two and two
And verdant sheen of many a mossy vault?
Am I then false and treacherous to you,
Your perfectly transparent skies of blue,
Your grand rock-masses woven of basalt,
And precipices where the wild birds halt
With some more daring, giddier flight in view
And nooks where birches cluster two and two
And verdant sheen of many a mossy vault?
198
Not so! but one has sung you whom to attempt
To rival were a folly—as for me,
From giddy mountain-eulogies exempt,
Let me the rather seek the still grey sea,
And rivers as the river where I dreamt
But yesterday, my vanished love, of thee.
To rival were a folly—as for me,
From giddy mountain-eulogies exempt,
Let me the rather seek the still grey sea,
And rivers as the river where I dreamt
But yesterday, my vanished love, of thee.
| Under the dawn | |