IN the deep hollow of this sheltered dell
I hear the rude winds chant their giant staves
Far, far beyond me, where in darkening waves
The airy seas of cloudland sink or swell.
No faint breeze stirs the wild-flower's soundless bell,
Here in the quiet vale, whose rivulet laves
Banks silent almost as those desert graves,
Whereof the worn Zaharan wanderers tell.
Oh! thus from out still depths of tranquil doom,
My soul beyond her views life's turmoil vast,
Hearkening the windy roar and rage of men,
Vain to her eyes as shades from cloudland cast,
And to her ears like far-off winds that boom,
Heard, but scarce heard, in this Arcadian glen!
