I72 
THE HILLS 
 
For stronger control is than urging, 
And mightier the heart of the sea 
Than her waves deep-merging and striving and surging 
That deem they are free. 
 
In spirit I stand on the mountain, 
My soul into God’s withdrawn 
And look to the East like a fountain 
That shoots up the spray of the dawn. 
And the life of the mountain swims through me 
(So the song of a thrush in me thrills) 
And the dawn speaks to me, of old for it knew me 
The soul of the hills. 
 
I stand on the mountain in wonder 
As the splendour springs up in the East, 
As the cloud banks are rended asunder, 
And the wings of the Night are released. 
As in travail a maiden demented, 
Afraid of the deed she hath done, 
By no man lamented, springs up the sweet-scented 
Pale flower of the sun. 
 
So change not the heights and the hollows ; 
The hollows are one with the heights 
In that pallid grave dawn of Apollo’s 
Confusion of shadows and lights. 
Unreal save to sense that can sense her 
That maiden of sunrise refills 
The air’s grey censer with perfumes intenser 
The higher the hills.