Behold an endless evening over land <br />That lapped in vast vales rises up afar <br />Into the frozen mountains; evening brimmed <br />With silence, so miraculously clear <br />That crevices in peaks of distant stone <br />And rust--red boughs of cedars, at the foot <br />Of those remote and voiceless waterfalls, <br />Which down the black steeps of lone gorges plunge, <br />Are shaped distinct unto the wondering eye; <br />And the mind, seeing, notes not how 'tis fair, <br />But throned in languor has already summ'd <br />All the vain journey thither. Not a sound <br />Near by; no motion lifts a single leaf, <br />Nor stirs one cold stalk of the sappy spurge <br />And powdery hemlock, nor 'mid clustered reeds <br />The peeping heads of certain dim blue flowers <br />Mirrored in water idle as themselves. <br />And she that sits upon the bank, whose head <br />Droops toward her shoulder, whose full lips are closed, <br />And whose wide eyes seem vacant, yet contain <br />Profound remembrance sunken like a wreck <br />Beneath gray seas, is she of this entranced <br />And glimmering land the sole inhabitant?<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dream-136/
