A Fragment (II)

As in a'round wide view from some tall hill,
Central and isolate, it happeneth oft
The furthest things on all sides eyeable
Are village temples tapering to the skies,
Be such, too, the horizon of the soul;
And every ultimate object, unto Heaven
Calmly aspiring, indicate its end,
And sanctify the limits of our life.
For as in gentlest exhalations earth
Breathes forth the glistening steams which high in air
Glow, sunlipped, into clouds of rosy gold,
Or seek again her breast in fruitful dew;
So of our aspirations and desires,
Might we endow the skiey calm of life
With retributive blessings, and a clime
Of love create about us bright and boon;
An everlasting spring of holy good,
And venerable beauty. But, alas!
Men breathe forth passions which fall back in blights,
And stormy desolations, that defile
The sky--born streams, and flood life's fields with woe.
The evil in our nature we can act
Always and utter; but the inner good
Hath inexpressive boundlessness. Earthlike,
Each carries with him his own atmosphere,
Or pure or foul, wheree'er we orbitate.