COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: <br />What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang), <br />In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? <br />But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease <br />To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, <br />To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; <br />And come, for Love is of the valley, come, <br />For Love is of the valley, come thou down <br />And find him; by the happy threshold, he, <br />Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, <br />Or red with spirted purple of the vats, <br />Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk <br />With Death and Morning on the silver horns, <br />Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, <br />Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, <br />That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls <br />To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: <br />But follow; let the torrent dance thee down <br />To find him in the valley; let the wild <br />Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave <br />The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill <br />Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, <br />That like a broken purpose waste in air: <br />So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales <br />Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth <br />Arise to thee; the children call, and I <br />Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, <br />Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; <br />Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, <br />The moan of doves in immemorial elms, <br />And murmuring of innumerable bees.<br /><br />Alfred Lord Tennyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-down-o-maid-2/
