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1806–1867

CATSKILL.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

HOW reel the wildered senses at the sight! How vast the boundless vision breaks in view! Nor thought, nor word, can well depict the scene; The din of toil comes faintly swelling up

From green fields far below; and all around The forest sea sends up its ceaseless roar, Like to the ocean’ s everlasting chime. Mountains on mountains in the distance rise

Like clouds along the far horizon’ s verge, Their misty summits mingling with the sky, Till earth and heaven seem blended into one. So far removed from toil and bustling care,

So far from earth, if heaven no nearer be, And gazing, as a spirit, from mid-air Upon the strife and tumult of the world, Let me forget the cares I leave behind,

And with an humble spirit bow before The Maker of these everlasting hills.

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CATSKILL. · Nathaniel Parker Willis · Poetry Cove