We blame all human happiness or grief Upon a place, make figures of our feeling And move them, as a story-teller might Move modern heroes into ancient legends. Into the solid and acceptable land.
For who can keep a grief as pure grief Or hold a happiness against the heart? Noble indeed to impute our worthiest thoughts To a serene and splendid countryside And therefore logical to let our loathing See a storm looming in the summer light. The hills about to learn of landslides and The entire landscape be quite swallowed up In a surrender—a type of our death.