Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/196

188

III.

There is an Eminence,—of these our hills

The last that parleys with the setting sun.

We can behold it from our Orchard-seat,

And, when at evening we pursue our walk

Along the public way, this Cliff, so high

Above us, and so distant in its height,

Is visible, and often seems to send

Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.

The meteors make of it a favorite haunt:

The star of Jove, so beautiful and large

In the mid heav'ns, is never half so fair

As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth

The loneliest place we have among the clouds.