"IN THE HIGHTS"
"IN THE HIGHTS"
One who this valley passionately loved
No more these slopes shall climb, nor hear these streams
That, like the murmured melody of dreams,
His happy spirit moved.
He knew the sudden and mysterious thrill
That takes the heart of man on mountain hights,
These autumn days that flame from hill to hill,
These deep and starry nights.
O vanished spirit! tell us, if so may be,
Are our wild longings, stirred by scenes like this—
Our deep-breathed, shadowless felicity—
A mocking, empty bliss?
No answering word, save from the inmost soul
That cries: all things are real—beauty, youth;
All the heart feels; of sorrow and joy the whole;
That which but seems is truth.
This mortal frame, that harbors the immortal,
Mechanic tho' it be, in our life's fires
Turns spiritual; it becomes the portal
Wherethrough the soul aspires.
The soul's existence in its human sheath
Is life no more than is the spirit's life
