I know a vale where I would go one day, When June comes back and all the world once more Is glad with summer. Deep in shade it lies A mighty cleft between the bosoming hills,
A cool dim gateway to the mountains’ heart. On either side the wooded slopes come down, Hemlock and beech and chestnut. Here and there Through the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams,
Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness. Among the sunlit shadows I can see That still perfection from the world withdrawn, As if the wood-gods had arrested there
Immortal beauty in her breathless flight. The road winds in from the broad river-lands, Luring the happy traveller turn by turn Up to the lofty mountains of the sky.
And as he marches with uplifted face, Far overhead against the arching blue Gray ledges overhang from dizzy heights, Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed.
And where the road runs in the valley's foot, Through the dark woods a mountain stream comes down, Singing and dancing all its youth away Among the boulders and the shallow runs,
Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray. There light of heart and footfree, I would go Up to my home among the lasting hills.
Nearing the day's end, I would leave the road, Turn to the left and take the steeper trail That climbs among the hemlocks, and at last In my own cabin doorway sit me down,
Companioned in that leafy solitude By the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace, While evening passes to absolve the day And leave the tranquil mountains to the stars.
And in that sweet seclusion I should hear, Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk, The calm-voiced thrushes at their twilight hymn. So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure,
They well might be, in wisdom and in joy, The seraphs singing at the birth of time The unworn ritual of eternal things.
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