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THE HILLS.
The flowing waves of our warm sea Roll to the beach and die, But the soul of the waves forever fills The curving crests of our restless hills That climb so wantonly. Up and up till you look to see Along the cloud-kissed top The great hill-breakers curve and comb In crumbling lines of falling foam Before they settle and drop. Down and down, with the shuddering sweep Of the sea-wave’s glassy wall, You sink with a plunge that takes your breath, A thrill that stirreth and quickeneth, Like the great line steamer’s fall. We have laid our streets by the square and line, We have built by the line and square; But the strong hill-rises arch below And force the houses to curve and flow In lines of beauty there. And off to the north and east and south, With wildering mists between, They ring us round with wavering hold, With fold on fold of rose and gold, Violet, azure, and green.
Previous: “AN UNUSUAL RAIN.”
Next: CITY’S BEAUTY.