THE HILLS 
I73 
 
So, vague as a ghost swift faded, 
Steals dawn, and so sunset may see 
How her long long locks deep-braided 
Fall down to her breast and her knee. 
So night and so sunrise discover 
No light and no darkness to heed. 
Night is above her, and brings her no lover ; 
And day, but no deed. 
 
Such a sense is up and within me, 
A tongue as of mystical fire ! 
Love, beauty, and holiness win me 
To the end of the great desire, 
Where I cease from the thirst and the labour, 
As the land that no ploughman tills 
Lest the robber his neighbour unloosen the sabre 
From holds in the hills. 
 
From love of my life and its burden 
Set free in the silence remote, 
Grows a sorrow divine for my guerdon, 
A peace in my struggling note. 
Compassion for earth far extended 
Beneath me, the swords and the rods, 
My spirit hath bended, bowed me and blended 
My self into God’s. 
 
But God—what divinity rises 
To me in the mountainous place ? 
What sun beyond suns, and surprises 
Mine eyes at the dawn of His face ?