Jean Ingelow,
Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes…
“ I shall forget that purple mountain isle, The lovely hollows atween her snow-clad peaks, The grace of her upheaval where she lay Well up against the open. O, my heart, Now I remember how this holiday Will soon be done, and now my life goes on Not fed; and only in the noonday walk Let to look silently at what it wants, Without the power to wait or pause awhile, And understand and draw within itself The richness of the earth. A holiday! How few I have! I spend the silent time At work, while all THEIR pupils are gone home, And feel myself remote. They shine apart ”
