A Rose O' the Hills

The hills look down on wood and stream
On orchard-land and farm;
And o'er the hills the azure-gray
Of heaven bends the livelong day,
And all the winds blow warm.

On wood and stream the hills look down,
On farm and orchard-land;
And o'er the hills she came to me
Through wildrose-brake and blackberry,
The hill-winds hand in hand.

The hills look down on home and field,
On wood and winding stream;
And o'er the hills she came along,
Upon her lips a wildwood song,
And in her eyes a dream.

On home and field the hills look down,
On stream and hill-locked wood;
And breast-deep, with disordered hair,
Fair in the wildrose tangle there,
A sudden while she stood.

O hills, that look on rock and road,
On grove and harvest-field,
To whom God giveth rest and peace,
And slumber, that is kin to these,
And visions unrevealed!

O hills, that look on road and rock,
On field and fruited grove,
No more shall I find peace and rest
In you, since entered in my breast
God's sweet unrest of love!