O LET me leave the plains behind,
—And let me leave the vales below!
Into the highlands of the mind,
—Into the mountains let me go.

My Keats, my Spenser, loved I well;
—Gardens and statued lawns were these;
Yet not for ever could I dwell
—In arbors and in pleasances.

Here are the heights, crest beyond crest,
—With Himalayan dews impearled;
And I will watch from Everest
—The long heave of the surging world.
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