Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/49

 O lovelier hills than thine have laid
 * My tired thoughts to rest:

No peace of lovelier valleys made
 * Like peace within my breast.

Thine are the woods whereto my soul,
 * Out of the noontide beam,

Flees for a refuge green and cool
 * And tranquil as a dream.

Thy breaking seas like trumpets peal;
 * Thy clouds — how oft have I

Watched their bright towers of silence steal
 * Into infinity!

My heart within me faints to roam
 * In thought even far from thee:

Thine be the grave whereto I come,
 * And thine my darkness be.