SUSANNA.
Weary Sea,
Spare us your dull monotony!
Up in the noble hill-land are we,
Unto its breezes we trust our fame—
Nothing here is weary or tame.
Spare us your dull monotony!
Up in the noble hill-land are we,
Unto its breezes we trust our fame—
Nothing here is weary or tame.
What jubilant springs these hills have greened—
What silent snows have intervened—
What magical summers over them leaned—
What autumns lighted the sombre wood,
And crimsoned it, as with its own heart's blood!
What silent snows have intervened—
What magical summers over them leaned—
What autumns lighted the sombre wood,
And crimsoned it, as with its own heart's blood!
