An Anthology of Modern Bohemian Poetry/Beneath the Mountains

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Here I stand beneath the mountains gloom-oppressed,
And hushed to rest,
In whom a thousand years on high
And mutely eke a thousand years arose.
And birds, who to these shadows fly,
Resignedly and wistfully repose,
Like a grey trunk, like a deserted stone,
Its form into the heavens wildly flinging.

The mid-day sun has flown,
And like a wondrous lamp has sped away. . . .
Our ballad with its gold and cloud array
Somewhere with waning tones in timid wise is singing—
And mightily aglow,
Like to a Dream and a heart-beat into space doth flow.

The tepid gulls of lakes grow blue far down,
And ice and snow the highest summits crown,

Nowhere of man or voice a sign—
How the ice and the snow and eternal peace are drawing near,
In which the beating of a heart I hear!

Beauty's wondrous calm I take as mine,
In humbleness as it before the highest rite
Of lofty truth!—The stars of reconciliation in my bosom beat,
And trustfully and solemnly concealed in this grey night,
My soul thy soul doth meet.


"When the Hour is Late.