Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/273



, not wearisome and bare and steep,
 * But a green mountain variously up-piled,

Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, Or color'd lichens with slow oosing weep;
 * Where cypress and the darker yew start wild;

And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash;
 * Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguil'd,

Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
 * Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,

That rustling on the bushy clift above, With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
 * Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb:
 * Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb,

E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness— How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless
 * Th' advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime