Page:Prometheus bound - Browning (1833).djvu/161



, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound. The summer sun is faint on them— The summer flowers depart— Sit still—as all transform'd to stone, Except your musing heart.

How there you sat in summer-time, May yet be in your mind; And how you heard the green woods sing Beneath the freshening wind.