Peace dwells in blessing o’er a place

folded within the hills to keep

and under dark boughs seawind-frayd:

and the kind slopes where soothings creep,

in the gold light or the green shade,

wear evermore the ancient face

of silence, and the eyes of sleep;

because they are listening evermore

unto the seawinds what they tell

to the wise, nodding, indifferent trees

high on the ridge that guard the dell,

of wars on many a far grey shore

and how the shores decay and fade

before the obstinate old seas:

and all their triumphing is made

a tale that dwindles with the eves,

while the soft dusk lingers, delay’d,

and drifts between the indolent leaves.