Dim shadows of groves
Of Demeter adorn
The waves and the woods of the earth, the heart of the
mother forlorn.
Caves curved of the wind,
Deep hollows of earth,
Whence the song of the blind
Old prophet had birth,
The caves that confined
Deep music of mirth,
Thy caves, O my mother, are these not a gem in thy
virginal girth ?
Ye mountains uplift
As an arrow in air;
Ice-crowned, rock-cliffed,
Snow-bosomed bare,
I give ye the gift
Of a voice more fair.
Leave echo, and wake, and proclaim that ye stand against
death and despair ! ,
Ye hills where I rested
In rapture of life,
From dawn calm-breasted
To evening’s strife,
Where skies were nested
With mist for a wife!
Leave echo, and speak for yourselves: let your song
pierce the heaven asaknife! __
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