With echoes. Waterfalls abound
And many streams convoy
The breath of music. I have found
A hill-path rising sudden on a city-street,
Out of a quarrel, out of black despair,
And climbed it with my winged feet.
It hurries me above
All this illusion, all these ills,
It rises quickly to the shining air.
.... Celia, I hear you on the hill of hills,