PROËM.
5
High is the house and sunny the lawn: the capes of the woodlands,
Bluff, and buttressed with many boughs, are gates to the distance
Blue with hill over hill, that sink as the pausing of music.
Here the hawthorn blossoms, the breeze is blithe in the orchards,
Winds from the Chesapeake dull the sharper edge of the winters,
Letting the cypress live, and the mounded box, and the holly;
Here the chestnuts fall and the cheeks of peaches are crimson,
Ivy clings to the wall and sheltered fattens the fig-tree.
North and South are as one in the blended growth of the region,
One in the temper of man, and ancient, inherited habits.
Bluff, and buttressed with many boughs, are gates to the distance
Blue with hill over hill, that sink as the pausing of music.
Here the hawthorn blossoms, the breeze is blithe in the orchards,
Winds from the Chesapeake dull the sharper edge of the winters,
Letting the cypress live, and the mounded box, and the holly;
Here the chestnuts fall and the cheeks of peaches are crimson,
Ivy clings to the wall and sheltered fattens the fig-tree.
North and South are as one in the blended growth of the region,
One in the temper of man, and ancient, inherited habits.
III.
Yet, though fair as the loveliest landscapes of pastoral England,
Who hath touched them with song? and whence my music, and whither?
Yet, though fair as the loveliest landscapes of pastoral England,
Who hath touched them with song? and whence my music, and whither?
