THE HILLS 
I75 
 
Not death as ye name in derision 
The change to a cycle of pain, 
To a cycle of joy as a vision 
Ye chase, and may capture in vain. 
Endeth you peace, and your change is 
Like the change in a measure that shrills 
And slackens and ranges ; your passion estranges 
The love of the hills ! 
 
Nay !  death is a portal of passing 
To miseries other but sure. 
Yet the snow on the hills amassing 
The wind of an hour may endure ; 
But as day after day grows the summer 
The crystals melt one after one. 
The hill—shall they numb her ?  Their frost overcome 
her ? 
Demand of the sun ! 
 
That uttermost death of my lady 
Revealed in the heart of the range 
Is as light in the groves long shady 
As peace in the halls of change. 
The web of the world is rended ; 
Stayed are the causal mills ; 
Time is ended ; space unextended. 
And end of the hills !