Robert Louis Stevenson

In the highlands, in the country places,
Where the old plain men have rosy faces,
And the young fair maidens
	Quiet eyes;
Where essential silence cheers and blesses,
And for ever in the hill-recesses
Her more lovely music
	Broods and dies.

O to mount again where erst I haunted;
Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted,
And the low green meadows
	Bright with sward;
And when even dies, the million-tinted,
And the night has come, and planets glinted,

Lo, the valley hollow,
	Lamp-bestarred!
O to dream, O to awake and wander
There, and with delight to take and render,
Through the trance of silence,
	Quiet breath;
Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses,
Only the mightier movement sounds and passes;
Only winds and rivers,
	Life and death.