I.

Through the long hours the day’s strong life had flowed In sunshine, working good deeds silently, In clouds whose shadows set new harmony Among the hills—God’s justice’ old abode. Through mountain hollows had the wind swept down, Turning green leaves to silver in the sun, Winning the meadows in broad waves to run Where still unlevelled shone their grassy crown. The troubled river had no vision borne Of gleaming hill and tree-o’ershadowed shore; The birches, bending their lost mirror o’er, Met but the driven waves’ unwilling scorn; Yet heaven’s blue the broken waters bore, The breeze but strengthened as it hurried o’er.