Classic Poem

Upon the hill, save for some smuggled bee
Within a flower hid, rolling his satyr sides
In honeyed revelry,
No sound —
Scarcely a straying air without the soft grass
Where to lay its wandering down;
Far lost beneath
The industrious road resigned of pilgrim feet
While overhead the August blueness beat like a heart
Constant to ecstasy!
And all about the encircling mountains, musing
In lofty terms of forest wisdom, high concerns of peace —
Their brows uplifted
In the faith of night and stars
To crown the day's long watchfulness.
Of bird or kine no dissonance —
No sound —
Till Love by Beauty spurred imperative,
Out of the silence and the rapture
Took — and gave —
As the bright frenzy of the sea,
As high remoteness of the mountain peak
Each was to each —
Within their arms they held the Infinite
And in the impassioned moment drained eternity.

Between the gleaming leaves' green sheltering
God looked upon them there,
Believed in their divinity
And in the heat and glory of the noon walked near.