Lady Hill wears a dress woven of lichen and grasses
Waving glad with limbs of wind-blown trees to each who passes,
Grandfather Valley returns your greeting with echoed call
While with ancient sloping arms he reaches, embracing all,
Your brother, the rolling Plain, his hair wet with morning dew
Reclines amidst the rabbit-holes, promising something new,
Friend River surges laughing at tadpoles, their comic style
One of countless wild jokes which live, breathe, and dance without guile,
Tribes of toads together take up the chant they all know well
While fam’lies of crickets sing of secrets they have to tell,
And Old Mountain’s granite grimace becomes a sort of smile
As the clouds that crown him blush, bright King Sol setting meanwhile,
When all these wonders you are promised, and even more shown,
How canst thou, O weary traveler, ever feel alone?