Classic Poem

Behold yon hills. The one is fresh and fair;
The other rudely great. New-springing green
Mantles the one; and on its top the star
Of love, in all its tenderest light, is seen.
Island of joys! how sweet thy gentle rays
Issue from heaven's blue depths in evening's prime!
But round yon bolder height no softness plays,
Nor flower nor bud adorns its front sublime.
Rude, but in majesty, it mounts in air,
And on its summit Jove in glory burns;
'Mid all the stars that pour their radiant urns,
None with that lordly planet may compare.
But see, they move; and, tinged with love's own hue,
Beauty and Power embrace in heaven's serenest blue.