From green Monadnock's darkling hill
The world below lies blue and fair,
I hear the plaintive whip-poor-will,
And breathe the sweet sustaining air.

The moors and feathered meadows rise
To where the winding road inclines,
Still bright with yellow butterflies,
Among the cool and reverent pines.

Imprison'd in a rock that lies
Beside a tavern sleeps a spring;
There wanderers rest and drink and rise,—
To higher levels clambering.

In gold and crimson sinks the sun,
The far hills melt in Tyrian blue,
All earth is hush'd as one by one
The clear stars tremble through.

The drama of the day is done,—
Its hero gone with all his light;
Upon the stage is now begun
The lofty interlude of night.

Fresh night of stars and a cloud-girt moon!
Arcturus glistens in the west,
The Swan is glorious, and soon
Dream-weaving Sleep enthralls the crest…

Then fare thee well, and thanks to thee
Monadnock, for thy company;
A thousand summers hence shalt see
Some other poet lie with thee

And lying think as I have thought,
Of Freedom's holy quest and gleam,
Of uncompanion'd souls who wrought
Truth from the glamor of their dream!