A ROSE O' THE HILLS

The hills look down on wood and stream On orchard-land and farm; And o'er the hills the azure-gray Of heaven bends the livelong day, And all the winds blow warm. On wood and stream the hills look down, On farm and orchard-land; And o'er the hills she came to me Through wildrose-brake and blackberry, The hill-winds hand in hand. The hills look down on home and field, On wood and winding stream; And o'er the hills she came along, Upon her lips a wildwood song, And in her eyes a dream. On home and field the hills look down, On stream and hill-locked wood; And breast-deep, with disordered hair, Fair in the wildrose tangle there, A sudden while she stood. O hills, that look on rock and road, On grove and harvest-field, To whom God giveth rest and peace, And slumber, that is kin to these, And visions unrevealed! O hills, that look on road and rock, On field and fruited grove, No more shall I find peace and rest In you, since entered in my breast God's sweet unrest of love!