While butterflies sped by in golden show’rs—
Far, far beyond, the earth-haze shining through,
Rose the great mountains’ dim and misty blue.
III.
So far and strange those misty hills! so near
And intimate the little, shady nook,
The skies reflected in the merry brook—
Those distant heights so lonely and austere!
Scarce e’en the busy mowers of the field
Lifted their eyes to those dim gates of blue