Classic Poem

This hill indents my soul
so that I sag
like a silver mist about its flanks.

I dwell
in the golden setting of the sun
while on the plain
the illumin'd mists invade
leaf-burden'd trees.

And then
the silent tides of melting light
assail the hill, imbue
my errant soul.

The empty body broods
one with the inanimate rocks.

The last rays are fierce and irritant.
Then on the lonely hill my body wakes
and gathers to its shell my startled soul.