There Is An Eminence,--of These Our Hills

William Wordsworth

There is an Eminence,--of these our hills 
The last that parleys with the setting sun; 
We can behold it from our orchard-seat; 
And, when at evening we pursue out walk 
Along the public way, this Peak, so high 
Above us, and so distant in its height, 
Is visible; and often seems to send 
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. 
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: 
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large 
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair 
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth 
The loneliest place we have among the clouds. 
And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved 
With such communion, that no place on earth 
Can ever be a solitude to me, 
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.

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