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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Summer Pilgrimage</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To kneel before some saintly shrine,<br>To breathe the health of airs divine,<br>Or bathe where sacred rivers flow,<br>The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go.<br>I too, a palmer, take, as they<br>With staff and scallop-shell, my way<br>To feel, from burdening cares and ills,<br>The strong uplifting of the hills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The years are many since, at first,<br>For dreamed-of wonders all athirst,<br>I saw on Winnipesaukee fall<br>The shadow of the mountain wall.<br>Ah! where are they who sailed with me<br>The beautiful island-studded sea?<br>And am I he whose keen surprise<br>Flashed out from such unclouded eyes?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still, when the sun of summer burns,<br>My longing for the hills returns;<br>And northward, leaving at my back<br>The warm vale of the Merrimac,<br>I go to meet the winds of morn,<br>Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born,<br>Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy<br>The hunger of a lowland eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again I see the day decline<br>Along a ridged horizon line;<br>Touching the hill-tops, as a nun<br>Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun.<br>One lake lies golden, which shall soon<br>Be silver in the rising moon;<br>And one, the crimson of the skies<br>And mountain purple multiplies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With the untroubled quiet blends<br>The distance-softened voice of friends;<br>The girl's light laugh no discord brings<br>To the low song the pine-tree sings;<br>And, not unwelcome, comes the hail<br>Of boyhood from his nearing sail.<br>The human presence breaks no spell,<br>And sunset still is miracle!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Calm as the hour, methinks I feel<br>A sense of worship o'er me steal;<br>Not that of satyr-charming Pan,<br>No cult of Nature shaming man,<br>Not Beauty's self, but that which lives<br>And shines through all the veils it weaves,--<br>Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood,<br>Their witness to the Eternal Good!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if, by fond illusion, here<br>The earth to heaven seems drawing near,<br>And yon outlying range invites<br>To other and serener heights,<br>Scarce hid behind its topmost swell,<br>The shining Mounts Delectable<br>A dream may hint of truth no less<br>Than the sharp light of wakefulness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through her vale of incense smoke.<br>Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke,<br>More than her heathen oracle,<br>May not this trance of sunset tell<br>That Nature's forms of loveliness<br>Their heavenly archetypes confess,<br>Fashioned like Israel's ark alone<br>From patterns in the Mount made known?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A holier beauty overbroods<br>These fair and faint similitudes;<br>Yet not unblest is he who sees<br>Shadows of God's realities,<br>And knows beyond this masquerade<br>Of shape and color, light and shade,<br>And dawn and set, and wax and wane,<br>Eternal verities remain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O gems of sapphire, granite set!<br>O hills that charmed horizons fret<br>I know how fair your morns can break,<br>In rosy light on isle and lake;<br>How over wooded slopes can run<br>The noonday play of cloud and sun,<br>And evening droop her oriflamme<br>Of gold and red in still Asquam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The summer moons may round again,<br>And careless feet these hills profane;<br>These sunsets waste on vacant eyes<br>The lavish splendor of the skies;<br>Fashion and folly, misplaced here,<br>Sigh for their natural atmosphere,<br>And travelled pride the outlook scorn<br>Of lesser heights than Matterhorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But let me dream that hill and sky<br>Of unseen beauty prophesy;<br>And in these tinted lakes behold<br>The trailing of the raiment fold<br>Of that which, still eluding gaze,<br>Allures to upward-tending ways,<br>Whose footprints make, wherever found,<br>Our common earth a holy ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420423" data-title="A Summer Pilgrimage de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="To kneel before some saintly shrine,
To breathe the health of airs divine,
Or bathe where sacred rivers flow,
The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go.
I too, a palmer, take, as they
With staff and scallop-shell, my way
To feel, from burdening cares an..."></div>
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