I stood upon a height and listened to
The solemn psalmody of many pines,
And with the sound I seemed to see long lines
Of mountains rise, blue peak on cloudy blue,
And hear the roar of torrents hurling through
Riven ravines; or from the crags’ gaunt spines
Pouring wild hair, where,—as an eyeball shines,—
A mountain pool shone, clear and cold of hue.
And then my soul remembered—felt, how once,
In ages past, ’twas here that I, a Faun,
Startled an Oread at her morning bath,
Who stood revealed; her beauty, like the sun’s,
Veiled in her hair, heavy with dews of dawn,
Through which, like stars, burnt blue her eyes’ bright wrath.