I stood on Brocken's sovran height, and saw <br />Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills <br />A surging scene, and only limited <br />By the blue distance. Heavily my way <br />Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, <br />Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms <br />Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard, <br />The sweet bird's song became a hollow sound; <br />And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, <br />Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct <br />From many a note of many a waterfall, <br />And the brook's chatter; 'mid whose islet stones <br />The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell <br />Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat <br />Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on <br />In low and languid mood: for I had found <br />That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive <br />Their finer influence from the Life within; <br />Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import vague <br />Or unconcerning, where the heart not finds <br />History or prophecy of friend, or child, <br />Or gentle maid, our first and early love, <br />Or father, or the venerable name <br />Of our adored country! O thou Queen, <br />Thou delegated Deity of Earth, <br />O dear, dear England! how my longing eye <br />Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds <br />Thy sands and high white cliffs! <br /> <br />My native Land! <br />Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, <br />Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view <br />From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills, <br />Floated away, like a departing dream, <br />Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses <br />Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, <br />With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, <br />That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel <br />That God is everywhere! the God who framed <br />Mankind to be one mighty family, <br />Himself our Father, and the World our Home.<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-written-in-the-album-at-elbingerode-in-the-hartz-forest/
