The Heavenly Hills of Holland

The heavenly hills of Holland,—   
How wondrously they rise
Above the smooth green pastures   
Into the azure skies!
With blue and purple hollows,   
With peaks of dazzling snow,
Along the far horizon   
The clouds are marching slow.

No mortal foot has trodden   
The summits of that range,
Nor walked those mystic valleys   
Whose colours ever change;
Yet we possess their beauty,   
And visit them in dreams,
While ruddy gold of sunset   
From cliff and canyon gleams.

In days of cloudless weather   
They melt into the light;
When fog and mist surround us   
They're hidden from our sight;
But when returns a season   
Clear shining after rain,
While the northwest wind is blowing,  
We see the hills again.

The old Dutch painters loved them,   
Their pictures show them fair,—
Old Hobbema and Ruysdael,   
Van Goyen and Vermeer.
Above the level landscape,   
Rich polders, long-armed mills,
Canals and ancient cities,—   
Float Holland's heavenly hills.

The Hague, November, 1916.