Classic Poem

Oh, Thou art beautiful! and Thou dost bestow
Thy beauty on this stillness — still as sheep
The Hills lie under Thee; the Waters deep
Murmur for joy of Thee; the voids below
Mirror Thy strange fair Vapours as they flow;
And now, afar upon the barren height,
Thou sendest down a radiant look of light
So that the still Peaks glisten, and a glow
Rose-colour'd tints the little snowy cloud
That poises on the highest peak of all.
Oh, Thou art beautiful! — the Hills are bowed
Beneath Thee; on Thy name the soft Winds call —
The monstrous Ocean trumpets it aloud,
The Rains and Snows intone it as they fall.