HERE is the world made real, not vision only : Here with the scented spruce and mountain-pink And the rough touch of rock
The hills are one.
From the far shining peak and burning rock-rib, Here, in a patch of sunlight, in the pinewood, The streams are glacier-cold, And falling, talk.
Over the timeless blue, as through the mind, Moves, in dissolving white, the summer cloud, And the mind's eye is dark, and dazzled with The simple truth : Living at our full compass. we were one . With the four elements, and knew the rock, And the sweet smell of earth, And ice and fire ; Graceful, blue Tsanteleina, beauty's pattern ; Granta Parei, stark meditation ; and, Dark as a falling breaker, fringed with foam, Silent, snow-corniced Sassi6re.
Here, in the velvet dusk, the mingling bells From the far grazing herd and the white chapel by the cataract, will drown In the last waves of sepia and violet and warm Wild-honey gold.
Here, in the summer night, the spirit waits The silence, and the beauty, and the moonlight,
Under Mont Pourri, and the wilderness of seracs, and the rock, And cannot sleep.