and should the mountains, flush with royal haze
be scornèd by the choosy pauper's gaze
then i would look without critique or qualm
upon those soft-brushed lazy hills of calm
with beauty shown in shades from teal to rose
how elegant the slopes lie in repose
not wanting to shrug off their foggy cloaks
but wrap those blankets tight round pines and oaks
in safety from the world i lie alone
among the green immortal mounts of home
a wanderer above the sea of fog
a pilgrim knelt before the seat of God