I.

True poet of all mountain sight and sound, Of barren glen where mighty echoes wake, Of eagle-haunted, crag-o’ershadowed lake Where loneliness in silent state sits crowned And shares her kingdom with no shallow heart: True lover of all nature’s solemn ways, The columned forest’s wind-waked song of praise— Sad chords wherein all deepest joy hath part— True reader of the primrose’ golden tale, Finding its glow but shadow of a light Wherein who seeks may find the Infinite, That doth its mystery so in least things veil— A seer thou seem’st in thy high mountain place, E’er with all holiest visions face to face.