ON THE MOUNTAIN'S SLOPE

High on the mountain's slope I pause and turn —

Over my head, by the rough crag-points high,

Seems rent and torn the tender hovering sky,

Till almost — thro’ — I see a Heaven-spark burn;

Then downward to the sleeping world I yearn

Whose eyes so heavy droop they may not try

To catch the higher gleam — and live thereby —

Youth passes graveward — and they never learn.

Then faint with brooding o'er a careless earth

I turn to Nature and her broad warm breast,

Strive for a friendship with her sun-burnt mirth,

Teach my sad soul to catch her cadence deep,

Dream that in her absorbed my heart must rest;

But Nature smiles, and turns once more in sleep.