With azure air-flowers on their crags,
Where cattle stray unowned by man;
The monarch of the herd there seems
No bigger than my hand in size,
Roaming along the tall, steep summit.

I know them well--I know them well,
Those hills of God, and they know me;
When I go there they are serene,
But when the stranger visits them
Dark rain-clouds gather round their tops--
Over the earth goes forth the tempest.

Then tell me not--then tell me not
'Tis sorrowful to dwell alone;
My heart within the city pent
Pines for the desert's liberty;
The streets are red with blood, and fear
Makes pale and mournful women's faces.

O bear me far--O bear me far,
On swift, sure feet, my trusty steed:
I do not love the burial-ground,
But I shall sleep upon the plain,
Where long green grass shall round me wave--
Over me graze wild herds of cattle.