Classic Poem

C ONTENTMENT have I known in lowlands green;
A quiet heart by mead and lisping rill;
But joy was with me on the cloven hill,
And in the pass where strife of gods hath been; —
Visible, there , is the ecstasy terrene
Whence leapt the cataracts; there may whoso will
Watch the primeval paroxysm that still
Writhes on the countenance of the seared ravine,
These peaks that out of Earth's great passions rose,
Wearing the script of rage, the graven pang,
The adamantine legend of her throes, —
These are her lyric transports! thus she sang,
With wild improvisation — thus, with clang
Of fiery heavings, throbbed into repose.