What pleasure lives in height （the shepherd sang）
In height and cold the splendour of the hills？
But cease to move so near the Heavens and cease
To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine
To sit a star upon the sparkling spire；
And come for Love is of the valley come
For Love is of the valley come thou down
And find him； by the happy threshold he
Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize
Or red with spirted purple of the vats
Or foxlike in the vine； nor cares to walk
With Death and Morning on the silver horns
Nor wilt thou snare him in the #CCCCFF ravine
Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice
That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls
To roll the torrent out of dusky doors：
But follow； let the torrent dance thee down
To find him in the valley； let the wild
Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone and leave
The monstrous ledges there to slope and spill
Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke
That like a broken purpose waste in air：
So waste not thou； but come； for all the vales
Await thee； azure pillars of the hearth
Arise to thee； the children call and I
Thy shepherd pipe and sweet is every sound
Sweeter thy voice but every sound is sweet；
Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn
The moan of doves in immemorial elms
And murmuring of innumerable bees.