The Village Stood On A Wide Plain, And Around It Rose The Mountains. They
Were Green To Their Tops In summer, And In winter White Through Their
Serried pines And Drifting Mists, But At Every Season Serious And
Beautiful, Furrowed with Hollow Shadows, And Taking The Light On Masses
And Stretches Of Iron-Gray Crag. The River Swam Through The Plain In long
Curves, And Slipped away At Last Through An Unseen Pass To The Southward,
Tracing a Score Of Miles In its Course Over A Space That Measured but Three
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