CONTENTMENT have I known in lowlands green, A quiet heart by mead and lisping rill, But joy was with me on the cloven hill, And in the pass where strife of gods hath been; -- Remembrance of that ecstasy terrene Whence leapt the cataracts; an eternised thrill, Coeval with the paroxysm that still Writhes on the countenance of the seared ravine. These peaks that out of Earth's great passions rose, Wearing the script of rage, the graven pang, The adamantine legend of her throes, -- These are her lyric transports! thus she sang, With wild improvisation, -- thus, with clang Of fiery heavings, throbbed into repose. |