Those widths of air which hence her beauty part,
Which always is so near, yet far away....
Beyond that Alp, my Ode,
Where heaven above is gladdest and most clear,
Again thou'lt meet me where the streamlet flows
And thrilling airs disclose
The fresh and scented laurel thicket near,
There is my heart and she that stealeth it.
(Ode 17.)
It is the same idea as Goethe's in Knowest thou the Land? Again: