Here on this hill, beyond the sick world's pain,
Landscape is legend, from the shadowy plain To topknots blonde with sun and lakes that shine Softly as bloom of porcelain or of wine.
The contours of this classic structure keep The distance of a dream, where framed in sleep They seem to dance, the pattern held awhile Curved in the strictness of an antique smile.
No architect on earth was ever skilled As one musician so to plan and build A tower true as only number is,
So firm in air, so blithe for view as this.
Most heavy heart, be lifted up, and come To find yourself in heaven and at home.