Life ever seems as from its present site <br />It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past <br />It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast, <br />Into a purple cloud! Across the night <br />Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light <br />All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn. <br />Not the near daisies, but yon distant height <br />Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn. <br />And always, be the landscape what it may -- <br />Blue, misty hill or sweep of glimmering plain -- <br />It is the eye's endeavor still to gain <br />The fine, faint limit of the bounding day. <br />God, haply, in this mystic mode, would fain <br />Hint of a happier home, far, far away!<br /><br />Henry Timrod<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-03-3/
