It was an eve of summer, mild As ever looked the pale moon through, That the deep waters were beguiled Into such rest, that, as the blue,— The moveless blue of the high heaven,—
Such sleep was to the low lake given That, as in lethargy, it lay Waveless and tideless, soft and grey As chasmless glacier. Voicelessly The little barks came gliding by
Apparently without a wind, Leaving long ripply wakes behind. It would have seemed a lifeless sea, But there arose colossally, Beyond the mist‐horizon, where
The waters mingled with the air, The spirits of gigantic things,— Lords of the earth, and air, and sky. Where, while heavenʼs cloud around them flings Concealment everlastingly,
The mountain‐snow, like scattered flocks, Speckled on high the red ribbed rocks, Or down the ravineʼs rolling blue Its crisped surge oʼer the green fields threw, Flinging the ice‐waves far and wide,
Like the tortured spray of the ocean tide Breaking broad on the mountain side. Yet was there such a softness shed Upon the rude Alpsʼ stormy head, On massive wood and russet brake,
Flashing river and polished lake So broadly stretched in sapphire sheet,— Another heaven ʼneath our feet Of deeper, darker, lovelier blue,— It seemed that we were looking through