THE SINGLE HOUND.
51
XLVII.
BLOOM upon the Mountain, stated,
Blameless of a name.
Efflorescence of a Sunset—
Reproduced, the same.
Seed, had I, my purple sowing
Should endow the Day,
Not a tropic of the twilight
Show itself away.
Who for tilling, to the Mountain
Come, and disappear—
Whose be Her renown, or fading,
Witness, is not here.
While I state — the solemn petals
Far as North and East,
Far as South and West expanding,
Culminate in rest.
