Читать книгу The Mountainy Singer - Campbell Joseph, Joseph Campbell - Страница 14

A thousand feet up: twilight.

Westwards, a clump of firtrees silhouetted against a bank of blue cumulus cloud;

The June afterglow like a sea behind.

The mountain trail, white and clear where human feet have worn it, zigzagging higher and higher till it loses itself in the southern skyline.

A patch of young corn to my right hand, swaying and swaying continuously, tho’ hardly an air stirs.

A falcon wheeling overhead.

The moon rising.

The damp smell of the night in my nostrils.

O hills, O hills,

To you I lift mine eyes!

I kneel down and kiss the grass under my feet.

The sense of the mystery and infinity of things overwhelms me, annihilates me almost.

I kneel down, and silently worship.