When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt,
Then feel I that thou art on high;
When fire o'er all the west is spilt,
Flames at its heart thy majesty.
Thy beauty basks on distant hills;
It smiles in eve's wine-coloured sea;
It shakes its light on leaves and rills,
In calm ideals it mocks at me.
Thy glances strike from many a lake
That lines through woodland scapes a-sheen;