Air and Light on Stanedge

Air! vital Air! and beauty-breathing Light!
The acred demons have not tax'd you here,
As in the dim town's thick, blood-thickening night
Of nights and days, where men from year to year
Toil for restricted food. Twins! pure and bright
As sister angels, clad in stainless white!
Free dwell ye on the mountain's summit bare:
And man shall yet be free, in hell's despite,
To reap enfranchised harvests everywhere;
Nor want ask leave to toil, law-wedded to despair.