Still, still my eye will gaze long fixed on thee, 
Till I forget that I am called a man, 
And at thy side fast-rooted seem to be, 
And the breeze comes my cheek with thine to fan. 
Upon this craggy hill our life shall pass, 
A life of summer days and summer joys, 
Nodding our honey-bells mid pliant grass 
In which the bee half hid his time employs; 
And here we'll drink with thirsty pores the rain, 
And turn dew-sprinkled to the rising sun, 
And look when in the flaming west again 
His orb across the heaven its path has run; 
Here left in darkness on the rocky steep, 
My weary eyes shall close like folding flowers in sleep.