Classic Poem

Below me curves the horizon line
Where the slope of the grass and the grey combine.
You say 'tis the sea; I swear 't is the sky
That over the bank peers dizzily nigh;
And this, a majestic mountain-top,
From under whose edge the landscapes drop,
And yon dark mass on the grey at rest —
'Tis the missing moon by the star-men guessed.
But the sea — why, who of the sea can speak
On this aery, uttermost mountain peak,
Where the wide earth shrinks to a grassy span,
Meet for the god when he stoops to man.