Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/321

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spirit grieves to say, Farewell to thee, Oh beautiful and glorious! Thou dost robe Thyself in mantle of the colored mist, Most lightly tinged, and exquisite as thought, Decking thy forehead with a crown of gems Woven by God's tight hand. Hadst thou but wrapped Thy brow in clouds, and swept the blinding mist In showers upon us, it had been less hard To part from thee. But there thou art, sublime In noon-day splendor, gathering all thy rays Unto their climax, green, and fleecy white, And changeful tinture, for which words of man Have neither sign nor sound, until to breathe Farewell is agony. For we have roamed Beside thee, at our will, and drawn thy voice Into our secret soul, and felt how good Thus to be here, until we half implored, While long in wildering ecstasy we gazed,