A long Life's lowlands, petty men
Mix in a crowd with thoughts earthtied
And sympathies too narrow-eyed
To peer beyond their little Then.
They walk their ways, all unaware
Of folk-moots in the upper air.

But, few and far between, arise
Great souls who overtop the small
And transient, who have range of all
The inspirations of the skies;
Then each to each they cry Good hail ,
Like peaks across an intervale.