Mile from Totness on the Tor Road, looking back

Dark mountains, happy valley, glorious sky!
I know not well, nor boots it to enquire,
Which of you all I dearest prize, and why:
Yon purple peaks, that sea of living fire,
Or the green vale, and feudal towers below
Where all sweet flowers of peace and home may grow.
Well are ye match'd, and sweetly do ye blend
Your grave glad music in the thoughtful heart.
But if I needs must choose, mine eye would send
A wistful glance beyond the source of Dart,
And seize and keep those gorgeous hues above,
For they are seen far off by those I love.
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