Oh, for a home on a hill, With the forests flowing away, Dipping and bending as woodlands will, To the farthest brink of the day. Mine be the gathering gaze Of a bird's look, aye, and a star, Noting the river's diffident ways As it curves to the ships afar; Watching the clouds as they go On the road of beautiful death; Hearing the world-wide whispers low, Breathing the world-wide breath; Seeing the earth as a whole, With a circle's glory complete; Standing aloft, the sky in my soul, And the mastered globe at my feet. Oh, for a home on a hill! And if that never may be, Mine be the gaze of a mountain still, Though I dwell in a cave of the sea! Mine be the conquering view, The fragments drawn into one; And mine be the vision of all that is true When valley living is done! |