A poet’s Mistress is a hallowed thing

Great thoughts, great feelings came to them, Like instincts, unawares.

The beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.

But on and up, where Nature’s heart Beats strong amid the hills.

The hills of manhood wear a noble face When seen from far; The mist of light from which they take their grace Hides what they are.

Oh glory, that we wrestle So valiantly with Time!

A man’s best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet.