The holy lamps of Evening shine <br />Sheer in the West — the air is still — <br />As I sit with this heart of mine <br />At the foot of Parnassus' hill. <br />Through my life's day I've reached to this — <br />To see where the immortals trod, <br />Winding up the dark height, I wis, <br />Till they came on the light of God. <br />Ah! I, a pilgrim with tired feet, <br />Have touched the verge of their renown, <br />As I look up on Homer's seat <br />And know the bards may not come down. <br />Still on those peaks, as powers apart, <br />They breathe the air now breathed by me, <br />For each has climbed the human heart — <br />The deathless hill of Poesy!<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hill-10/
