Poems (Cromwell)/The Poet's Thrift
THE POET'S THRIFT
My landscape only need comprise low hills, For these are eminent and limitless To me. They mean more than my dreams express; They mean more than my word or deed fulfils. Tim slender trees, the tuneless whip-poor-wills, Impart quite ample themes to loneliness. I find enough in scant elusiveness Of springs and little brooks. My spirit thrills To beauty, unprepared for the sublime. I wonder, though, when I shah be completed Even to transcribe these hills? Sometime This landscape in few lines will show to me The subtle mysteries I have entreated, In the simple realm of poetry.