St. Michael's Mount

St. Michael's Mount, the tidal isle,
In May with daffodils and lilies
Is kirtled gorgeously a while
As ne'er another English hill is:
About the precipices cling
The rich renascence robes of Spring.

Her gold and silver, nature's gifts,
The prodigal with both hands showers;
O not in patches, not in drifts
But round and round a mount of flowers —
Of lilies and of daffodils,
The envy of all other hills.

And on the lofty summit looms
The castle: None could build or plan it.
The four-square foliage springs and blooms,
The piled elaborate flower of granite,
That not the sun can wither; no,
Nor any tempest overthrow.