|When first the tongue of heaven's fire
touched the ridge of springing trees
I thought I list'd to nature's lyre
amidst the wind-tossed crimson leaves.
I saw the mountains and I thought
no greater beauty could be found.
The hill and vales for vision fought
horizon's edge to touch the ground.
So I set off to find another
place to view that holy face,
and wait, the hills and clouds above her
turned to ocean in that place.
The rolling hills - the rolling waves;
the billowed clouds - the wave that crashes.
Suddenly the sunlight's rays
flashed as by the drips refracted.
Here the crimson faded ever
off to violet with the night.
Here the sky and ocean severed,
quiet, nothing, out of sight.
"This," I said, "is truly beauty!"
Not a doubt remained behind.
Then I turned to one who knew me;
then I knew, and changed my mind.