Down by the tumultuous streaming,
Rushing beneath the rocky cliffs,
The vale reflects itself in the tints
That outlast the hot season of growth.
Like an inverted bowl is the height
Of the skies that cover the outland—
Immense and boundless the meadows
And all the seven skies are deeply blue
And the gusty wind blows endlessly
And the tall grass bends to the left
And to the right. . . and all my sheep
Come into view to be recounted up.
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Ron