Джордж Уильям Расселл (George William Russell)

On a Hillside

A FRIENDLY mountain I know;
As I lie on the green slope there
It sets my heart in a glow
And closes the door on care.

A thought I try to frame—
I was with you long ago;
My soul from your heart out-came;
Mountain, is that not so?

Take me again, dear hills,
Open the door to me
Where the magic murmur thrills
The halls I do not see,

The halls and caverns deep;
Though sometimes I may dare
Down the twilight stairs of sleep
To meet the kingly there.

Sometimes on flaming wings
I sit upon a throne
And watch how the great star swings
Along the sapphire zone.

It has wings of its own for flight,
Diamond its pinions strong,
Glories of opal and white,
I watch the whole night long.

Until I needs must lay
My royal robes aside
To toil in a world of grey,
Grey shadows by my side.

And when I ponder it o’er
Grey memories only bide,
But their fading lips tell more
Than all the world beside. 

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