From the Train

By George Sterling

Who roam you, happy hills,
    Now fairer with the setting of the sun ?
Who, at the crystal sources of your rills,
    Drink when the day is done?

Surely your glens are cool,
    Where swiftly flows the laurel-shadowed stream.
Passing with sorrowed voice from pool to pool.
    As life from dream to dream.

Purple, distinct, afar,
    Your treeless ridges wall the waiting skies,
Where soon the solitary evening star
    Unclarioned shall rise.

Stands a wayfarer dim.
    Where now the roses of the light are thrown,
Invisible to me as I to him.
    And still to be unknown.

Happy, who can delay
    And watch the white, eternal stars put forth !
I bid farewell to beauty and the day.
    Where the loud train roars north.

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