There is an Eminence,--of these our hills

There is an Eminence,--of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun; We can behold it from our orchard-seat; And, when at evening we pursue out walk Along the public way, this Peak, so high Above us, and so distant in its height, Is visible; and often seems to send Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: The star of Jove, so beautiful and large In the mid heavens, is never half so fair As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth The loneliest place we have among the clouds. And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved With such communion, that no place on earth Can ever be a solitude to me, Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.