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on Mount Pilatus, freshly crowned
 * In all the splendor of new-fallen snow,
 * And heard the bells of myriad flocks below,

Filling the valleys with mysterious sound: Enchanting cadences, that lingering wound
 * Among the dreaming hills, elusive, slow,
 * And bearing in the liquid ebb and flow

An elemental music, faint, profound.

And I have wondered if the joy and pain,
 * The happy laughter and the anguished sighs,

So strangely blended in our lives, attain
 * Consistency and sweetness as they rise,

And, woven to one pure, ethereal strain,
 * Make harmony beyond the tranquil skies.