IX.

GREEN MOUNTAINS.

Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads, Seen dimly through their canopies of blue, The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds Distance-created beauty over you; I am not well content with this far view; How may I know what foot of loved-one treads Your rocks moss-grown and sun-dried torrent beds? We should love all things better, if we knew What claims the meanest have upon our hearts: Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright To meet my own, looks on your mist-robed forms; Perchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts To souls that have encircled mine with light-- O brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms!